Mission Newsies: The Case of the Missing Newspaper
by Pegasus M
Summary: Newsboys by day, secret agents by night. They had us all fooled.
1. CODE 4132

_**Title:** Mission Newsies: The Case of the Missing Newspaper  
**Author:** Pegasus  
**Rating:** T (for some inappropriate language)  
**Summary:** Newsboys by day, secret agents by night. They had us all fooled.  
**Author's Notes:** This was written on a whim one night a while ago after I watched_ Mission: Impossible III_. I wrote it just for fun, so I don't know if I will be continuing it. I'm sure this type of story has been done before, so it is nothing original. This chapter is more like a preliminary, insight/prologue chapter, so not all details are quite revealed yet. But here it is, a silly chapter that I had fun writing anyway. Cue Mission: Impossible theme.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the movie_ Newsies_, nor any of the characters from said movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to my imagination._

- - - - - -

**Chapter 1: CODE 4132  
**_Duane Street Newsboys Lodging House_

Static. "We've got a Code 4132."

Silence.

"_Racetrack_," Crutchy said more insistently into the microphone. He sat in the dimly lit basement of the Duane Street Newsboys Lodging House. He frowned at the monitor which cast a flickering light onto his grave face. Crutchy watched impatiently as Race nonchalantly brought his cigarette to his lips. "I repeat, we've got a Code 4132."

From outside the Lodging House, Race took one last puff of the cigarette and flicked the stub into the darkened street. He leaned against the wall of the building. "What was that?" He was clearly annoyed with Crutchy's unrelenting tone.

Crutchy was losing his nerve as he watched the second monitor to his right. The hum of the machines in the room seemed to grow louder around him. "Code 4132, Race!" He grabbed the microphone and pulled it closer. "You've got fifteen seconds before Snipeshooter figures out your cigar." The second monitor showed the newsboys room. Several bunks were empty. The younger kids were getting ready to tuck in for the night. But Crutchy had without a doubt seen Snipes swipe the cigar off the table separating his and Race's bunks. And now he was examining it, twirling the cigar around his fingers and checking every angle. The kid's face showed that he knew there was something wrong with Race's cigar.

Race pushed off the wall and righted himself. "_Shit_. Why didn't you say so?" He ran into the Lodging House and up the stairs. He slowed down before entering the bunkroom – he did not want to cause more of a ruckus than there needed to be. Ten seconds.

"Hiya Race," said a voice from behind him.

Race turned his head and saw Bins by his side. The youngster had splattered water all over his shirt in the process of washing his face. He grinned up at Race.

"Hiya, kid," Race said, ruffling the kid's hair. He eyed Snipes ahead of him. Race was about to confront him when Bins tugged at his shirtsleeve.

"You know, Race. I did that and this lady bought _two _papers from me, just like you said!"

"Did what? What'd I say?" Race asked. He was only half listening as his dark eyes focused in on Snipeshooter.

"You said that if I smile sweetly, I could sell more papes," Bins reminded him. "See?" He grinned again to demonstrate, a perfected smile that reached to his eyes which slanted into crescent moons.

Race glanced at him and chuckled. "That's good, Bins." He then lifted his head. "Hey, Sni— "

"Snipes, no!"

_Oh no_.

"Oh no," Crutchy whispered from the Control Room. He covered his face with both his hands, then peeked at the monitor through his fingers. "Oh no."

There were two other people in the room with him: Specs, the Head Technician, and Boots who, like Crutchy, was in charge of Communications. They were both working individually at their stations at opposite sides of the rectangular room. The walls were lined with equipment – room monitors, data monitors, contact dials, speakers. The Duane Street Newsboys had the most advanced computers of all the agencies in New York.

But now both Boots and Specs stopped working and stared at Crutchy's screen.

"What's going on?" asked Specs. He leapt off his seat and walked towards Crutchy, still curiously watching the scene on the screen. He saw Race unnaturally frozen. The wisecrack always had something to say – what was going on? Then, on the corner of the screen, he saw the extra person. Mush. "Oh no."

Boots slid his chair next to Crutchy. "Oh no…"

They watched as Race visibly tried to relax his muscles from the sound of the sudden shout.

Race could not believe it. He had had the situation under control. He had to keep himself from cringing when he heard Mush. But he was cringing on the inside.

"I – I mean. Snipes, I'm sure Race wouldn't appreciate it that you took his cigar. Um, again. Heh," Mush stuttered. His body was rigid save for his fingers, which he began to twiddle nervously.

_How'm I going to fix this mess_, Race wondered in exasperation. _How could this happen with a simple 4132…_ All the kids were staring at either Mush or Snipes. And then Race broke into a sweat when he saw Snipe's thumb on the button that would trigger the device. There was no time to think. He had to act now.

He stomped towards Snipes and snatched the cigar out of his hands. "That's my cigar," Race prompted.

Snipes scoffed. "You got gipped on that one, Race. That ain't no cigar."

"What're you talking about?" Mush asked. "Of course it's a cigar."

Inside the basement control room, the three boys remained glued to Crutchy's monitor. "Dammit Mush. Quit while you're ahead," Specs urged. It was to no avail. Mush was not yet connected to the network and could not hear them.

"Damn right it's a cigar. It's rare 'round these parts," Race informed Snipes.

Snipes looked skeptical. "Uh-huh."

Crutchy, taking his eyes away from the monitor, turned to Boots and said, "We need a diversion. Who's working closest to the Lodging House?"

Boots walked up to the screen displaying the map of New York City. The screen itself took up the entirety of the east wall. Numerous pairs of blinking spots lit on various parts of the map. Boots searched, his eyes squinting for a pair of lights located within a small radius from the Lodging House which was indicated by a blue star symbol.

He found them. "Skittery and Pegasus are on lookout patrol just two blocks from here. But they're doing backup in the Wiesel mission," Boots relayed. "Jack and David are already inside the building."

"Thank goodness for Peg. Skitts is no good in doing cover-ups," Specs muttered.

Crutchy quickly dialed Pegasus' code. He heard a low crackle. But it was only for a moment, for he soon heard her voice, loud and clear.

"Peg here. What is it, Crutchy?"

"We've got a situation back at the Lodging House. Code 7156: Cover-up."

"I'm on it."

Two blocks down from the Lodging House on Duane Street, Skittery and Peg were situated on the concrete roof of a warehouse building. Peg clicked off her communication device and rolled onto her back. She began to pack her equipment into her utility belt.

"What's happening?" Skittery asked, though he did not really care. He did not bother to look in her direction, but continued looking straight ahead at the building they were covering. He peered through his night binoculars. There was a single light on on the third floor.

"We've got a Code 7156 at the Lodging House. Looks like you're doing solo tonight," Peg said as she shoved in her own pair of binoculars.

He lifted his head then. "Damn, was it Mush again?"

She shrugged. Nodding her head towards the building, she asked, "David and Jack having any trouble?"

"Not yet."

"All right, I'm off."

Peg crawled to the edge of the building and found the rope they had installed to climb onto the roof. Peg gave the rope three tugs to make sure it was secured and proceeded to climb down. Once on the ground, she took off straight towards the Lodging House. Her soft soles made minimal noise as her feet rapidly pounded at the cobbled ground.

She skidded to a stop and pulled the door open, entering with a flourish. Mr. Kloppman stood alone at the desk, hunched over a pile of books.

"Hi Kloppman," she greeted. "How's my timing?"

"17 seconds. Up, quickly," he ordered in a low volume. He did not even glance up from the records book.

"On my way," she said as she straightened her dark hair and jogged up the steps.

Inside the room, Race was trying to change the subject from his holographic location device. If only Mush could quit trying to justify the awkward situation.

"Of course, it's a cigar, Snipes. I mean… look at it. It looks exactly like one," Mush said, gesturing towards the device in Race's hand.

"It doesn't _feel_ like a cigar. I would know," Snipes argued. He was insulted that no one believed him (he proclaimed himself a cigar expert), but at the same time, perplexed by Mush's odd persistence. In fact, Snipes opened his mouth to ask Mush why he was acting so strangely all of a sudden, when he heard someone coming up the stairs.

Peg feigned a yawn as she strolled into the room. She stopped in her tracks and looked disapprovingly at each of the kids. "You guys should have been asleep already." She walked past Race and whispered, "I'll get it from here."

Race nodded imperceptibly. _What a mess this could've turned into_. He was going to go have another cigarette. He saw Mush was still standing by the doorway, apparently unsure of what to do. There was a bead of sweat falling from the poor kid's temple as he looked from Snipes to Pegasus to Race and the cigar he held in his hand. Race placed the cigar deep into his pocket and walked towards the door.

He turned his head and made sure the children's attention had been diverted. Peg was in the midst of tucking the kids in and offering to tell a story. A collective groan filled the room ("What? I'm not _that_ bad," Peg defended jokingly). At the doorway, Race turned to Mush and said, "You're a nice guy, Mush," he said quietly as he pulled out a cigarette from his shirt pocket. "But you ain't an agent yet." With that, he tucked the cig between his lips and proceeded down the stairs.


	2. Late Night Meeting

_**Author's Notes:**__ Thank you everyone for the feedback! I was actually kind of surprised by the response. I really appreciate all the advice! In fact, I've already tried to fix some of the confusing parts in the first chapter (including the Code numbers confusion. Hopefully, it is now a little less confusing). Like I said, I wasn't sure if I were going to continue but somehow I found myself writing the next part. Might as well take advantage of the vacation, right? (I've only skimmed through this so there may be some errors). Hope you enjoy reading this chapter!  
__**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from the movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to my imagination._

- - - - - -

**Chapter 2: Late Night Meeting  
**

_Duane Street Newsboys Lodging House – That night, 1:00 AM_

"We've got, uh… quite a few things to go through tonight," said Mr. Kloppman as he flipped through his notes. He adjusted his glasses - lifting them past the bridge of his nose - and looked down the long table. Three seats remained unoccupied, including the two that were the closest to him at the head of the table.

The walls of the room were coffered with gleaming wooden panels. The room itself contained only the central, rectangular mahogany table accompanied by sixteen chairs - eight on each side of the length. A large, display monitor took up the far wall of the room, directly behind where Kloppman was standing. Though it was darkened at the moment, the monitor served as their visual and communication source.

This was where all members gathered for weekly reports, mission assignments and general Agency discussions. This room was their Universal Meeting Room. And during special Mission-related meetings, this was their War Room.

The sixteen seats were reserved for the members of Duane Street from each of the sectors: Mission Force, Communications and Control, Technology and Development, Physical Training and the Department of Malady Correction, which was more commonly known as the hospital wing.

The Mission Force was comprised of the agents that went out on location on assignments. The sector was headed by Jack Kelly. Street smart, a born leader. He was always full of ideas, albeit some were not always the brightest, but that is why he had David Jacobs as his partner. Racetrack Higgins – master swindler. He could talk his way out of most any situation and was an effectively quick thinker. Kid Blink was on his way to becoming a legend as the purest example of loyalty. He earned his nickname after he was captured by a gang during a mission; he was gruesomely tortured - the patch concealed the worst of his wounds - for information but held fast. Skittery was… well, the "Human Pressure Meter," so dubbed by Race. Quiet, laid-back Skittery meant that there was no urgency in a situation. Impatient, take-action Skittery signified a high pressure situation. Tumbler Bumlets was soft spoken but firm. A Tumbler was an agent that was especially talented in the physical aspects of Mission work – he could scale walls, flip through traps, handstand, headstand, tiptoe, tipfinger, spin on ceiling fans. David Jacobs was book smart. He was indeed a Walking Mouth, but more importantly to the Agency, he was also a natural lip reader.

Communications and Control was centralized in Duane Street Headquarters, located in the basement of the Lodging House. Crutchy was the Principle Director of this sector. As a newsboy, Crutchy was rather looked down upon by the other boys outside of the Agency. He was called a "gimp" amongst other hurtful names. But he never let such words put down his cheery spirit. Because of this, Crutchy appeared innocent and naïve, but the Agency knew his actual nature to be reliable and alert – and he was one of their most valued members. Crutchy was chiefly aided by Boots, who was smart and efficiently quick. Jake was also in Communications and Control – he was a good-natured jokester, but at the same time, he was meticulous worker and paid great attention to detail – perhaps a bit too much as it was borderline obsessive.

Boots spoke up. "Jack, David and Skittery are on their way."

Kloppman acknowledged the information with a nod. By day, Kloppman was just Kloppman the Lodging House keeper. But his true identity was the one he was assuming now: Head of the Duane Street Secret Agency. For twenty years, he had successfully managed the Agency. And it was during his reign that Duane Street grew to be one of the prominent forces in the invisible world of secret service. Kloppman himself had been a top agent in his day. He had been praised as the all-around, multi-purpose agent – an expert in every field. Even at his age now, his eyes and mind had never been sharper.

He let out a heavy sigh. On most other days, his wrinkled lines were an image of ages of wisdom and knowledge. Tonight, however, they showed only age and weariness. "I've received reports of troubles with some of our new recruits."

"A recruit named Mush," Specs muttered.

"Ahem." Kloppman narrowed his eyes at Specs. "We will not name names."

"He's the only recruit we have, Kloppman," Race said.

"_Ahem_."

"Gotcha."

"Come on, guys. Mush ain't that bad," Kid Blink defended. Mush was his best friend and it frustrated Kid Blink to listen to his peers judge him so harshly.

"Bad? _Not_ bad? You weren't there to see bad tonight," said Race. He pressed two fingers onto his temple as though he were trying to repress a headache from the memory.

Blink puffed up angrily. "He couldn't have done anything--"

"He almost messed up a 4132," Boots said quietly.

Blink paused, then sighed and slid back into his seat.

The door burst open just then and in came Jack, David and Skittery. Jack strode purposefully to his seat near the end of the table. David's shoulders were slumped as he pulled out his chair and plopped down. Skittery slammed a yellowed folder onto the center of the table while muttering, "… waste of time… dammit."

"I take it the mission didn't go too well," Pie Eater remarked in a slightly arrogant manner. He was recently transferred to the Physical Training sector about which he was obviously unhappy. In this department, Coach Swifty trained Agents to attain their full physical potential.

"So did we miss anything?" Jack asked Kloppman, ignoring Pie's remark.

"We just opened discussion on the situation with the new recruits," Kloppman answered.

Jack grimaced. "Mush, huh?"

Kloppman sighed his displeasure.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Anonymity policy."

"Mush – I mean, the new recruit isn't ready to work with the Mission Force," Specs voiced.

Race pointed a thumb in Spec's direction. "What he said."

"I hate to say it, but I agree," said Crutchy. "I think we rushed him into this and it's just too much for him to handle."

"Well, of course we rushed. We need him," said Coach Swifty.

"We don't _need_ anyone right now," argued Pie Eater.

"Yes, we do," Bumlets contradicted. "We seriously need a Tumbler," he informed the members. He glimpsed in Pie Eater's direction. "Especially with you out."

Pie clenched his teeth and lowered his head.

Bumlets continued. "I can't go out on every single mission that requires a Tumbler. I need help here. And Mush is our best candidate."

"Peg could train to be a Tumbler," David suggested.

"I wouldn't be nearly as good as Mush," Pegasus opposed.

"You could still… give it a try," Swifty said, his voice low.

"- and training would take too long," Pegasus said.

"I don't know about that. Which would take longer: Peg to learn a couple of flips and tricks or Mush to become a full-fledged agent?" Race posed half-seriously.

"Race…" Kloppman warned.

"Gotcha."

"Did anyone even give him a tour yet?" Peg asked.

"No. But I gave him an overview of his duties and the Code book," informed Crutchy.

"I discussed the concept of teamwork and strategy with him two nights ago," Jack said.

"He's already passed the Tumbler's test," Swifty added. "He's a natural."

"And he's passed his physical," Snoddy, Head Doctor, said, lifting up Mush's record from his folder. "As healthy as anyone can be."

"I think you forgot to check his head, Snoddy," Pie snipped.

"_Haha_. And that's _Doctor_ Snoddy to you."

Skittery snorted in Pie's direction, though he kept his glance aloof. He was concentrating on the reflection of light upon the table while tapping his fingers lightly on the surface. He was still fuming from the night's lost mission and was having trouble concentrating on the discussion at hand. Any slightly off comment was sure to tip him off…

"Well, what's your idea, genius?" Pie demanded in a demeaning tone.

There it was. Skittery exploded then. He jumped out of his seat and glared at Pie Eater. "What the hell's your problem anyway, Pie? Just because you got yourself kicked out of Mission For--"

Pie Eater rose to meet Skittery's angry outburst. "Shut the hell up!"

"You wanna know what I think? I think Mush would make a hell of a better agent than you were. If we had a damn Tumbler with us tonight, we could have gotten those goddamn documents from Wiesel!"

"Silence, the both of you!" Kloppman's voice boomed. Several boys jumped at the sound of Kloppman's command. It was unusual for Kloppman to raise his voice. The two boys, though stunned, continued glowering at each other as they sat back down. Kloppman rubbed his forehead and sighed. "We will take a vote now."

Kloppman's right hand glided along the top of the table edge. There were five buttons lined up within a hidden compartment of the table. He pressed the first button. Suddenly, square screen panels beamed into sight on the table in front of each of the sixteen members. Each panel showed the same image: A plain blue screen that featured the words, "Vote: Yes or No."

"Should Mush continue training with the Duane Street Secret Agency?" Kloppman announced the question. He gave up on the policy of anonymity. He pressed another button from the control compartment. The large display monitor lit up and the question visualized before them.

Everyone concentrated on their miniature monitors. Bumlets lightly tapped "Yes" and hoped the others would do the same. He was exhausted and his body was sore from going on two, three missions each night for the past three weeks. He did not have to wait long for the results. The display monitor showed a rising bar beneath the "Yes" with sixty nine percent.

"Majority votes that Mush should stay with the Agency and continue his training," Kloppman relayed. "That is the final decision. Jake, I am assigning you to be Mush's personal Network guide. You will connect Mush to the Network tomorrow and give him the tour of Headquarters."

"Will do, Kloppman," Jake answered.

"Uh… Kloppman. We're talking about Jake here. He'll bore Mush to death with every little unnecessary detail," said Race.

"Very funny, Race. But probably true," Jake admitted.

Kloppman realized the truth in this. "Right." He cleared his throat. "Crutchy."

"Yes, sir?"

"You'll be giving Mush the full tour."

"Yes, sir."

"Discussion is closed. Now, onto the next subject. We may have a significant case to uncover. There have been reports of robberies and muggings in recent weeks. These crimes are not being inflicted by an individual but by a group. An exclusive group. They call themselves," Kloppman pressed a button on the table that changed the wall display monitor, "The Black Panthers." The monitor flashed into a map; bright points indicated the areas that the Black Panthers attacked. "Questions?"

David raised his hand.

"Yes, David?"

"Do they have a striking pattern?"

"None that I can find. They are a new gang and new gangs usually have only one agenda: to make a mark. To prove themselves, spread their name, you see," Kloppman informed.

"Right." David nodded his understanding as he wrote the information down in his notepad.

"All right then. These are the new assignments." He passed out manila folders. All the members opened their assignment files and carefully read their missions. "Jack, David, Skittery – you are still responsible for the Weisel mission. I want progress reports. Racetrack, Kid Blink, Bumlets – Black Panthers. You will find more details in your folders. Boots, Jake – make sure to update yourselves on both missions. Crutchy – Mush. In addition, all of you must report to the Malady Corrections wing and update your physicals."

"Yes, sir," the members affirmed.

Peg raised her hand, confused. "Kloppman, I didn't receive an assignment."

"Pegasus, dear." He smiled kindly. "I've selected you to become a Tumbler. Swifty and Pie Eater will aid you in your training. You will be promoted to Tumbler status once you complete your training and pass your tests."

_Tumbler? Her? _She hesitated for a moment as she absorbed the words, then forced a smile in return.

"Good. Anything else?" Kloppman opened the floor for additional discussions.

"Yeah, Klopps," Race said. "You know the great new lighting in the Physical Training facility? When can we get them in here? We need to update all of Headquarters with the latest technology, don't you think?"

"We're working on it, Race," Specs said tensely. Race had brought up this exact topic in every meeting for the past couple of weeks. "Keep your pants on."

"It's been over a month, _Specsy_," Race retorted. "Can't you guys work a little faster?"

"If you hadn't noticed, it's just me and Dutchy in our department. And we've got more important things to do than fix the lighting," he explained. "_Racey._"

Kloppman placed his papers in his leather binder and closed the cover. "Our meeting has come to a conclusion, then. Up you go, agents. Rest. Tomorrow morning, you rise as newsies." Kloppman watched as the members rose from their positions and began to file out the door. "Tomorrow night," he whispered, "we resume our true purpose."

- - - - - -

_For clarification purposes, here is a list of the newsies of each sector:_

**Mission Force  
**Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins, Kid Blink, Skittery, Bumlets, David Jacobs, Mush (in-training)

**Communications and Control  
**Crutchy, Boots, Jake

**Technology and Development  
**Specs, Dutchy

**Physical Training Department  
**Swifty, Pie Eater

**Department of Malady Corrections  
**Snoddy, Itey


	3. Newsies By Day

_**Author's Notes:**__ It's been a while but I did write a bit more on this story. This is a very short chapter and there's not much I have to say about it because it's supposed to be a "mystery." Or, at least, my attempt at creating a mystery. Also, I _might_ be holding a CC sometime in the future. I'm thinking I will be needing a group of hyper, quirky girls but I'm still working on which way this fanfic might go. Again, this story was written on a whim and I may or may not continue with it. I guess we'll see! And last, but definitely not least, thank you for the reviews and feedback for the last chapter!_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from said movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to my imagination._

**- - - - - -**

**Chapter Three: Newsies By Day  
**_Duane Street Lodging House_

"These kids, they sleep their life away, these kids. Wake up, wake up! Boots! Skittery! Wake up, sell the papers! Snipeshooter, sell the papers!" Kloppman shouted. The children began to stir, shaking themselves of their dreams and regaining full consciousness. Kloppman shook more newsies awake, prying their eyes open with his fingers. He resignedly shuffled towards Jack's bed, knowing the boy never woke up during Kloppman's morning calls. "Hey, Cowboy... c'mon Cowboy, always dreaming of selling papers – time to wake up!"

"_Mmfrghwert_…" Jack mumbled into his pillow.

"What was that?"

Jack lifted his head, his eyes still half-closed. "I said, you're a madman!" he said with a lazy grin.

Kloppman laughed. "You going to get up, boy?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm gettin' up," said Jack as he jumped off his top bunk.

The second floor of the Newsboys Lodging House began to bustle with activity as the newsies began their morning hygiene routine. Jack shaved his non-existent stubble. Race blinded himself with soap foam. Boots hogged the water pump. Mush was reading the Code book. Dutchy was sniffing his –

_Mush was reading the Code book._

Blink grabbed Mush by the arm and stowed him away from the washing room.

"Mush," he said in the hushed but urgent tone, "You're not supposed to be reading that during the day!"

"What? Then when am I supposed to be reading it?"

Blink glanced back at the washing room to make sure everyone was out of hearing range. "What part of 'secret agency' don't you understand?" he asked genuinely. Were the other members right about Mush? Was he not ready to become an agent?

"I – _oh_. Right. I just thought I'd take it with me to the stall," Mush explained. "You know, reading material."

"Well, you've gotta be more careful than that. You're not just a newsie anymore. You have knowledge that other people can't even imagine. And for that, you have to be on guard and more responsible than you've ever been before. You're going to be an agent soon, but you've got to prove that you can handle the work."

Mush sighed. "I know." Then he asked, "did you have to go through all these tests, too?"

"Every single one of them."

"Is it worth it?"

Blink smiled and patted his friend on the back reassuringly. "You bet it is."

- - - - - -

_The World Distribution Center_

"Fifty papes, sir."

"Well, look at that headline, huh? Might be a good sellin' day," Race commented as he straightened his paper with a snap. "'New Gang Black Panthers Attacks Bar Owner.'" Race scrutinized the headline. "Eh, not big enough. New Gang Black Panthers attacks, no, vandalizes local bar…" Race shook his head. "New gang pounces into action, vandalizes top restaurant." He smiled at himself.

"Hey Race, how's about watchin' the fight this afternoon?" Jack asked. He, too, was studying the headline and did not look up from his paper when he asked the question. He frowned as he muttered "bar owner" in consternation, as though he was studiously trying to think of a more fantastical title.

Race knew why Jack suddenly wanted to watch the fight. The bar owner in question was James Silewe, a newcomer who was already famous for being a wisecracking grouch. He had opened a small night bar and restaurant in lower Manhattan and the shabby place had already attracted its share of suspicious customers. If the Mission Force was going to find out more about this new gang, James Silewe would be a key starting point. Several of the older newsies had seen him frequent the afternoon fights. Perhaps he would be there today.

"Sure, Jack. Why, you lookin' for a wager?" Race flipped the page.

Jack hopped off the platform and turned towards Race.

"I'm willin' to make a bet, yeah."

- - - - - -

"Gang pounces into action, vandalizes _top restaurant_!" Race announced the headline as he and Jack entered the crowd surrounding the afternoon fight ring. They pushed their way into the front of the crowd, simultaneously collecting money and giving out papers. Race sold the last of his papers and rubbed his hands together in triumph and anticipation.

"All right, who you bettin' on: the fat guy or… that is a nasty shiner," Race noted as he squinted against the bright sun to observe the two contenders. "I got the fat guy."

"You bettin' on the guy with the shiner?" Jack questioned.

"Ah, Jack, you don't understand the fine profession of analyzin' your subjects. This right here is a standard example of the underdog complex," Race stated simply.

The pair continued to shift around through the gathering which mainly consisted of men and boys. The smell of sweat permeated the air, the air itself thick and humid. Race was just about to elaborate on his theory when Jack bumped into a slender figure.

"Excuse me, uh…" Jack dipped his head down to figure out how to address the person. _Kid? Mister?_ The stranger's face was shadowed by an oversized cap.

He was mildly surprised. "Excuse me, miss."

She looked up at him briefly with dark eyes. Race noticed a dark bruise along her cheek before she turned away wordlessly. Then she quickly darted away, weaving through the raucous crowd.

"My mistake," Race said. He nodded in the direction that the girl disappeared.

"_That_ was a nasty shiner."

Jack chuckled. He continued to search for the hunchbacked figure of Silewe, who usually sat directly in front of the ring. Jack knew the Black Panthers was not his assignment. But this new gang had to be more interesting than the Weasel – _Wiesel_ – mission. Besides, without a Tumbler, there was no way the agents were going to successfully obtain the Weasel's secret documents.

Race spoke first. "He ain't here, Jack," he whispered.

Jack nodded affirmatively. "We'll try the bar tonight."


	4. Secret Agents By Night

_**Author's Note**__: Here's Chapter Four, brought to you by your own wonderful reviews! Seeing as this received such nice feedback, I thought I would continue for as long as I have the random ideas in my head. Thank you to _**ktkakes**, **Facetiouslymischievious**, **numbuh 126**_, and _**Passionate Fire**_ for your reviews on the last chapter!_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from said movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to my imagination._

**- - - - - -**

**Chapter Four: Secret Agents By Night**

"All right, Mush. Here we are."

"Crutchy, this is just the Lodging House," Mush said, slightly confused.

"Not anymore. This," Crutchy gestured around the Lobby of the Lodging House, "is just the beginning." He looked at Mush seriously. "Are ya ready?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Okay." Crutchy glanced around one last time to double check before reaching into his vest pocket. He pulled out a flat, rectangular card and handed it to Mush.

Mush took the card carefully. There was barely anything on it; the card was white in color and featured a series of black lines, each line varying in thickness, at the bottom. Other than that, it was empty.

"What is this?"

"That's your Identification Card," Crutchy answered.

"Identification Card?"

"I'll show ya," he said and waved Mush over to follow him. "Just do exactly what I do."

They stepped behind the counter – Mush thought Kloppman was the only person allowed in this area – and in front of the mailboxes. Crutchy cleared one cubicle of envelopes and held his own ID card in front of it. Suddenly, a faint blue glow emanated from the cubicle and onto the card. Then, the light disappeared. Crutchy pocketed his card and -

Mush froze. _Where did Crutchy go? He was just standing right there!_ Mush began to panic and looked under the counter in search of Crutchy. He cautiously felt around the floor to check if there was some sort of trap door.

_Okay_, he thought to himself, trying to calm down. _ I just have to do exactly as he did_. . _If this is some sort of big joke, I'm never talking to any of them again. Especially Blink._ With that thought, he slowly exhaled and tentatively held his card in front of the cubicle. The strange blue light appeared again, making Mush very nervous, and disappeared.

"Now wha – AHT!"

Mush felt the floor give from under him and felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as he fell. He closed his eyes tightly until he abruptly realized he was not freefalling into a bottomless pit. In fact, he was not falling at all. Mush was sliding. He was inside a small cylindrical tunnel that twisted and turned every which way, shuffling his insides into a knot.

"Whoa!" Mush exclaimed as he slid out of the tunnel and onto the floor. He landed on his feet, teetered, and fell on his bottom.

"Hey, not bad for your first time!" Crutchy said, impressed. "That was just one of the portals that lead into our Headquarters. There's one in the third toilet stall upstairs, another under the writing desk and this one which we nicknamed the 'Tunnel of Love.'"

"The 'Tunnel of Love'?"

"It involved an incident with David and Jack… ya had to be there," Crutchy answered, chucking over the memory.

Jake strolled in and greeted Mush. He asked Crutchy, "Hey, giving him the tour now?"

"Yeah, just told him about the portals."

"Most people forget that we also have the stairs," Jake informed Mush, pointing towards a doorway to his left.

_Great_, thought Mush as he got to his feet. _Why couldn't we have taken the stairs?_

"So, any questions before we continue?" Crutchy asked.

"Yeah, what was that blue light? And what – how – who made – where…?"

Jake took it upon himself to answer. "The blue light? It comes from the scanner. The scanner's a machine that reads your ID card to make sure that you're a member of the Agency. Once the scan is complete, you gain access to Headquarters and all that's inside. That's why your ID card is really important. Keep the card with you – and out of sight – at all times. The scanner also temporarily stops the invisibility chip we installed into the card: You'll see that your card has your picture, your name and your Agency sector. That only lasts for thirty seconds for security purposes."

Sure enough, Mush watched his picture and information on the card fade. He could not believe his eyes.

"It's like magic," Mush said in wonder.

"It's technology," announced a passing Dutchy. "Hey, guys," he said, taking a bite out of a sandwich as he walked by.

"Okay, hope you got all that because there's more," said Crutchy.

Mush's eyes widened when he finally took in the scene before him. He could never have even imagined the technology that was at work in the room. There was a curious buzzing that filled the room and Mush could not help but notice all the strange buttons on the walls. A rectangular table stood in the middle of the room, holding what looked like a pile of books.

"This is the Control Room. It's where we keep track of the agents in the field and communicate with them wherever they may be. And this," Crutchy picked up a small device from the table, "is how we do it. It's the smallest communications device yet. You just have to place it in your ear. Like an earplug."

Crutchy dropped the device into Mush's open palm. Mush took the gadget between his thumb and forefinger and, uncertainly, positioned it inside his ear. He poked at it to make sure it would not fall out.

"Hey, how'd ya know how to use it?" Crutchy asked, surprised.

"Huh? What do ya mean?"

"When ya wanna get in contact with anyone in the Control Room, all you have to do is give the com device a light tap. Now, you're connected to the network! Let's give it a test run."

Crutchy walked over to the communications control panel and pushed a single button. He then pulled on the microphone and said, "How's that? Ya hear me loud and clear?"

Mush did a double take. "It's like you're inside my head!"

"Convenient, isn't it?" said a voice from behind him.

Mush turned and saw Specs walking towards them.

"I made the new design," Specs told Mush, pointing at his own chest and nodding in an _It-was-_all_-me_ manner. He continued on. "Yeah, I've got some things up my sleeve. Big ideas, huge projects to revamp this place. Moving stairs, sliding doors – I've got blueprints to make scanners read your fingerprints so we won't need the ID cards. That'll save some plastic. I've also got an idea to make smaller microphones that you can put," he demonstrated with his hands, "around your head. I'm going to call them 'headphones.' Get it?"

"Why don't you start by changin' the damn lightin' in this place, huh? Hiya, Mush."

"Hi, Race. Hi, Jack."

Jack placed a friendly arm around Mush's shoulders. He was well aware of the dissension among the Agents regarding Mush's admission into the Agency. But the majority ruled, and Jack had to set the example by accepting Mush with open arms. It was not difficult – Mush was one of the nicest guys he knew. And perhaps the younger newsie was naïve, but he certainly was not stupid; for this reason, Jack had voted him in.

"How's it goin', Mush? Tour goin' all right?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. It's just… a lot."

"Old man Klopps gave me the tour," Race shared. "Saw all this with my own eyes, still didn't believe it for days." He glimpsed over the articles on the table and scrunched his nose as he picked up a thick manual. "A history of the Agency," he said, shaking his head. "I think Davey's the only one who ever finished reading this."

Jack broke away from the group and moved towards the main console. The north wall of the room displayed five surveillance monitors and the major communications controls. Jake sat in front of these controls, taking over for Crutchy while he gave Mush the tour. A voice suddenly crackled through the speakers.

"Jake, I'm going to need --"

The voice belonged to Pegasus.

Static.

"I'll get back to you," she finished.

"Somethin' goin' on?" Jack asked.

"Peg's on patrol duty. Looks like she's on the move, fast."

Jack glanced up at the east wall map screen and saw a single blinking light progressing westward. He was always surprised by how fast she could run; after all, Pegasus' becoming an agent was based on an accident.

"Listen, Jake. I know this ain't protocol, but I'm switching missions tonight. Me and Race are going to check out that Silewe guy from the papes this mornin'."

"What about the Weasel?"

"Weasel's on hiatus for now."

Jake agreed sooner than Jack had anticipated. He explained, "The Black Panthers is a big case. You gotta put a stop to a gang like that before they get more gutsy. I mean, Kloppman completely dropped the Silverman case for this week because of them."

"Yeah," said Jack. "All right, Jake. Me and Race are headin' out."

"Hope you guys find somethin'," Jake said.

Jack smiled. "We will."


	5. Patrol Duty

_**Author's Note**__: Yes, it is another chapter. It's a short one and the silliness that is this story gets even more so here. Thank you __**Passionate Fire**__**Magnifi-Socks**__**Brockie**__ and __**Spinner**__ for the reviews! They seriously make my day._

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from said movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to my imagination._

**- - - - - -**

**Chapter Five: Patrol Duty**

Her entire body was sore and stiff. Pegasus had begun Tumbler training only a few nights before and it was killing her. This morning she could barely move any of her limbs and instead of hopping down, fell off her top bunk with a painful thud.

"What was I thinking," Peg muttered out loud, wondering why she had accepted the Tumbler position. She stretched her right arm, pulling it across her body. "Wasn't thinking at all, what a surprise…"

She trudged along the street, continuously trying to stretch and relax her muscles. Tonight was Peg's slot for patrol duty. Basically, she had to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity, though most suspicious activities turned out to be anything but basic. She sighed softly and looked around. It seemed to be quiet enough and the unusual stillness made her uneasy.

She was now walking past the ornate _World_ building. Glancing up, she noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Lights were off, curtains were drawn. Peg glanced at her wristwatch. Her shift was almost over.

A shuffle from her left.

_Oh, good_, Peg thought as relief poured over her. She had begun to think something was wrong. Receding into the shadows against the _World_ building, she cautiously scanned her surroundings. It sounded as though the noises had come from inside the building. She lightly tapped the miniscule communications device in her ear.

"Jake, I'm going to need -," Peg stopped short. Several cloaked figures had just scurried out of the _World_ headquarters.

"I'll get back to you," she said and chased after the shadow figures.

In the darkness, she could not distinguish how many there were. Three? Four? They continued to run straight – it was obvious by their purposeful strides that they had a carefully planned destination. However, the group was either too confident or they were amateurs – not one of them had turned around to check if they were being followed. Whatever the case, it made Peg's job easier.

Squinting ahead, she saw the black silhouette of a carriage. The figures hurried into it and the carriage began to roll away, picking up speed. They were going to get away, Peg thought alarmingly.

"Jake, I'm going to be needing backup – ugh!" She was cut off by a force ramming into her side, knocking her off her feet. Her body hit the floor, but she rolled onto her back and, with great effort, flipped herself back onto her feet (she had just learned this trick from her recent Tumbler training). Peg snapped into a fighting stance, bringing one fist up near her face and the other away from her body positioned for a quick jab.

Peg unwittingly relaxed when she saw the petite girl standing in front of her. Her body tensed up again when she realized that she was surrounded by two other girls.

"Relax," the girl said. "We're not here to fight."

Peg was not convinced. "Oh, really? You mind telling me why you felt the need to crash into me?"

The girl chuckled nervously. "Sorry, that was an accident."

"Who are you? Oh wait… you girls distribute for the _Sun_ –-"

"Shh! Someone might hear!" the girl to her left whispered.

Peg looked at them, raising her eyebrows in puzzlement.

"We're not your average girls," the petite girl announced. "We're…" the three girls stood in a line in front of Peg and, sticking their palms out fervently, exclaimed, "the Fatal Four!"

"Wait, I thought we were the Fatal Five," said the girl on the right, confused. The three girls then proceeded to engage in a discussion.

"Well, if we let her in, we'd be the Fatal Five."

"_Are_ we letting her in?"

"Um… maybe? Well, both Fatal Four and Fatal Five work well."

"Yeah, they both start with 'F.'"

"Well, if we let _this_ girl in," she indicated towards Peg, "we'd be the Fatal Six."

"Oh, yeah. That doesn't work."

"No, it doesn't."

"I always thought 'fatal' was too strong, anyway."

"We voted on 'fatal' so that our enemies would _fear_ us."

"Are we going to change our name every time we add a member?"

"You're right. We could all be the founding members, then."

"What about the Scintillating Six?"

"We're not showgirls, for pete's sakes. We're serious. We mean business."

"Yeah."

"Yeah…"

"Does it have to start with an 'S'?"

"What about the Six Saviors?"

"Oh, that's good."

"I like it."

"Yeah, I do, too. Makes you sound like a bunch of damn angels – what the hell is goin' on here?" an annoyed voice quickly interrupted.

The three girls broke out of their conversation and stared to Peg's right.

"Skittery…" the girls sighed.

"Skittery?" Peg asked surprised, her head twisting to the right. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough." The slouched stance, crossed arms, narrowed eyes and clenched teeth: Skittery was clearly irritated. Jake had sent him when Peg called for backup and Skittery had expected a more urgent situation than the one confronting him.

One of the girls finally cleared her throat and said, "We have important business to discuss with Pegasus, if you don't mind."

"Didn't sound like you were discussing anything with her," Skittery answered lazily.

"We got, uh… sidetracked. Now, if you don't mind."

Skittery was about to retort when Peg laid a hand on his arm to stop him.

"It'll be fine," she said.

Skittery gave in, albeit reluctantly. He thought this was a waste of time. "I'll be down the street," he said and turned away.

Peg then crossed her arms and gave the girls a questioning look. "What is it?"

"We have a proposal for you. We are extending an exclusive invitation for you to join our newly established secret organization: the Six Saviors."

Peg blinked. "What?"

"We know that a couple of the Manhattan newsboys are part of a secret club. We're going to form our own to show them that, hey, we girls are every bit as deserving to be part of their stupid club."

Peg was shocked. How did these girls find out about the Agency?

"How do you know that they're part of a club? And if it's so stupid, why do you want to join?" she asked, acting skeptical.

"We've been keeping… close tabs on them."

"Tabs?"

"_Close_ tabs," the girl emphasized.

"Why…?"

"Well, when – I mean, well… they've just been up to something!"

Peg paused. "So, you mean you've been stalking them?"

"That just sounds so negative."

"Fine. What is your secret organization for?"

The girl smiled, a glint of mischief in her eyes, before answering:

"Crime fighting."

- - - - - -

_**Author's Note II**__: Here it is, finally: The Mission Newsies CC has officially begun. They're enthusiastic and they're ready to prove that they're kick-ass: The temporarily(?) named Six Saviors need actual individuals and that's where you come in, should you choose to accept it. Drop me an email or a PM if you are interested!_


	6. Puzzle Pieces

_**Author's Note**__: Thanks to _**Spinner, ****stress, ****burnt-mufn, ****ktkakes, ****Passionate Fire, ****Facetiouslymischievious **_and _**numbah 126**_ for the feedback on the last chapter!_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from said movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to their respective owners._

**- - - - - -**

**Chapter Six: Puzzle Pieces**

_Duane Street Lodging House: Secret Agency Headquarters – Universal Meeting Room_

The Duane Street Agency's seventeen members were present in the Universal Meeting Room that night. Kloppman had called an emergency meeting and the members waited, oddly silent - expectant, tense and anxious. A persistent tapping echoed throughout the otherwise hushed room. Fifteen pairs of eyes turned towards Pie Eater who, upon gaining the unwanted attention, ceased tapping his fingers on the table; he leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms, exhaling impatiently.

David had his notepad and pen at the ready. He shifted his blue eyes, looking down the row of familiar, curious faces. Only one caught him off guard: sitting at the end of the table was Mush, the seventeenth and newest member, who sat stiff in his seat gazing around the room in wide-mouthed awe. David, personally, had only one qualm against the new Agent: Mush was too trusting. He never doubted anyone's words and in this field of work, that was a dangerous attribute.

"You know, I've got blueprints to replace those," Specs spoke, breaking the silence. He nodded towards David's writing utensils.

"What do you mean?" David asked.

"I've got an idea for a console small and light enough that you can carry it around," Specs answered.

"We were deciding between calling it a 'portable computer' or a 'handheld console.' But then we decided to call it a 'laptop.' _That's_ how small it's going to be," Dutchy added. "Small enough that you can work on it by resting it on your lap. There's gonna be a revolution, I tell ya."

Kloppman entered the room just as Race opened his mouth to remind the pair of Technicians about the poor lighting in most of the facilities. The Agency Head set his leather binder onto the table as he took his seat.

"Good Evening, Agents," he began. "Let's begin our rounds, shall we? Communications and Control – begin, please."

"Not much to report, Kloppman," Crutchy started. "The new earsets are working fine aside from a little initial static," Crutchy read from his notes.

"Noted," Dutchy said, lifting his hand at the elbow to indicate that the situation would be addressed.

Crutchy continued. "Patrol duty shifts have been updated so everyone should check the schedule again. And Agent Mush has been connected to the network and has begun receiving official Agency instructions."

Kloppman nodded.

The Technology and Development department went next. Specs and Dutchy took a full fifteen minutes enumerating their plans and projects ranging from button-sized cameras to "laptops" and –

"And we _will_," Specs said upon meeting Race's eyes, obviously irritated, "upgrade the lighting in all the facilities. It'll look like the sun is pouring through this place twenty-four hours a day."

Race muttered something along the lines of: "Finally, been going blind in this place…"

"Moving on," Snoddy spoke, shuffling his papers. "We still need to see Race, Skittery and Jack to update your health records. Everyone else's records have been updated, filed and locked away. We've got the full status report right here, Kloppman. But you three need to report to the Malady Corrections Facility as soon as you can," Snoddy finished, pointing to each of the tardy agents.

Kloppman acknowledged the information with a slight inclination of his head. "Physical Training?"

Swifty spoke. "Agent Pegasus has begun taking the Tumbler Training Program three nights ago. Agent Mush will be introduced to the Training Facilities and will begin official field training. We're also moving forward with a lot of ideas, like the hologram training program Specs and Dutchy proposed a few months before."

"We're still working out a few kinks," Dutchy added.

Kloppman nodded again and upon seeing this cue, Race slapped the table and leaned forward in his chair, drawing everyone's attention.

"All right. Status report on the Black Panther case," he announced. "We've run into some familiar faces," Race said. "And they ain't pretty."

_Jack and Race ambled into the darkened bar. The smell of alcohol clung to the air, mixed with the ashen haze of cigarette and cigar smoke. Jack had to squint in order to see anything through the artificial fog. The pair took their seats on the stools by the bar and struck up a random, laid back conversation, attempting to appear inconspicuous. Meanwhile, both agents kept a sharp eye out for any suspicious activity…_

"_Never seen you boys 'round here before," said a voice from behind the counter._

_Race, being the smooth-talker, greeted their target – James Silewe – with a toothy grin. "Friend recommended the place."_

_The bar owner reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle and two glasses. He popped the cork and poured the amber liquid, sloshing into the glass. He pushed the drinks towards the two boys._

"_On the house for the new customers," he said._

"_Thanks," Jack said. He observed their server over the brim of his glass. The hunchbacked Silewe was certainly not an attractive man by any means, but it did not mean that he didn't try. The man was known for his slicked back, peppered hair and tailored outfits, despite the type of business he ran. But the Silewe that stood before him – even with that sleazy grin on his face – did not live up to his reputation: His hair was disheveled and his collar was rumpled._

"_This place was in the papers today," Jack began, scanning the area. He turned back to the owner. "Ya cleaned up pretty quick."_

_Silewe laughed hoarsely. "Those bums didn't know who they were dealing with. But," he said, lowering his voice, "they are a hot-tempered bunch, and I've seen my share of dangerous fellas. I wouldn't mess with them, though they didn't give me much choice yesterday."_

_Jack nodded and was about to ask if Silewe could identify any of the Black Panther members when a fist slammed into the counter beside him._

"_Well, well… well. Look who it is."_

"_I thought I smelled a stink," Race muttered._

_Jack beamed. "Oscar. Morris. What brings you two shrimps back to town?"_

_The corner of Morris' mustached lip flinched. "Still cocky as ever, Cowboy," he said threateningly. "Why don't we, uh… refamiliarize with one another? For old times sake." He cracked his knuckles._

"_What_? The Delancey's are back?" Itey asked, disbelieving.

"That's what I'm tellin' you, ain't it?" Race snapped. "Anyway…"

"'_Refamiliarize'? That's a big one for you, Morris," said Jack._

_Race did not hesitate and spun around in his chair, facing the scattered crowd. "All right, who's bettin'?"_

_But Oscar put a restraining hand on Morris' shoulder and imperceptibly shook his head. Jack raised an eyebrow, but the brothers, without a word but still glaring, retreated back to their table._

_Race's shoulders slumped. "What's wrong with them?"_

"So… they just walked away?" Blink asked.

"Yeah, basically," Jack answered.

The members remained in a silent state of confusion for a few moments before Pegasus broke the stillness.

"I've got something to report, too, and it's not good. I think I saw a burglary in process from _The World_ while I was on patrol duty. I couldn't catch them, though, because..." She sighed before continuing. "Status report for the Black Panther case," she said for the record.

The members, even more perplexed than before, turned their heads to her with furrowed brows.

_Peg's brows furrowed. "Crime fighting?"_

_The petite girl nodded affirmatively, flipping her blond braid to her back. "The name's Snapshot," she said._

_The taller girl to her left smiled and introduced herself. "Stress. And this is Brockie," she said, directing her hand towards the third girl of the 'Six Saviors.' She adjusted her small tortoise-shell frame glasses and gave a small wave in greeting._

"_We know what you're thinking," Stress began. "But we really are serious about this. For instance," she pulled out a wrinkled paper from the backpocket of her gray slacks. It was a copy of _The Sun_ and she handed it to Peg, pointing at the headline referring to the recent gang attack. "The Black Panthers? We know who they are."_

_Peg glimpsed at the paper, then looked back up at the girls. Inwardly, she had many questions and reservations. But, on the other hand, if these girls really did have information…. She gave a sideways glance towards Skittery, pacing down the street, before speaking._

"_Why me?"_

"_What do you mean?" Snapshot asked._

"_Why are you asking me to join?" Peg wondered if these girls also knew about her involvement with the 'newsboys' secret club.' If they did, they were doing a good job of hiding it._

"_You know, there are a lot of scary things about you circulating around. Standing up to gang leaders, running in front of carriages… it's exactly the kind of experience we're looking for," said Stress emphatically, her brown-blond curls bouncing with her movement._

"_We'll give you some time to think about it. Meet us by the Horace Greeley statue at this time tomorrow night," Snapshot informed. "You're key in this, ya know."_

"_In what?"_

"_In whether or not we call ourselves the Fatal Five or the Six Saviors, of course," she answered matter-of-factly. "So be there."_

"Shit, so they know about us?" asked Jack.

"They know you guys are doing… dubious things, night in and night out," said Peg. "And no one here has ever noticed that they were being followed, which means --"

"Which means everyone could use a field training refresher," Kloppman said, his voice low.

"And that means everyone will, at one point in their schedules, have to come down to the Training Facility," Swifty noted, jotting down the information.

"And that means we're going to have to work faster on that holographic training program," Specs said to Dutchy.

"But it also means," Peg said, "that these girls might actually know what they're doing. And that they have information that, somehow, we don't have. So…"

"So one, they could be lying. Two, they're genuinely forming a 'secret organization.' Or three, they just happened to have gotten lucky with any information pertaining to the Black Panthers," David provided.

"Our identities isn't a problem," Dutchy said. "Me and Specs are real close to finishing up the Memory Eraser. All ya gotta do is flash the thing in front of them and they'll forget all about the night escapades they claim to have witnessed."

"Yeah, it just sounds like a bunch o' gals wound up too tight," Race offered. "We don't need to worry about them."

Peg shook her head.

Race scrunched his face in consternation. "What is it?"

She unclenched her fingers, revealing a small device resting on her palm. Peg placed the device onto the table and lightly flicked it towards Specs.

The bespectacled newsboy caught the object and held it to the light for observation. Then, with a surprised look: "They bugged you?"

"Yeah," she said. "I think the girl planted it when she bumped into me. Don't worry," she added quickly. "We deactivated it already."

"Ah, okay," David said, looking up from his notes after a beat. "So, there's a fourth option now: there is no _new_ organization – there already _is_ an active organization."

"Jeez, that's a lot," Mush whispered, trying hard to keep up with the discussion.

A sudden beeping.

Crutchy looked at his rather large and bulky wristwatch. "It's a police report," he announced and clicked on a switch on the side of the watch.

Kid Blink explained to Mush. "We have a device implemented inside the police station to screen any incoming and outgoing phone calls. If there's any emergency, we'll know about it."

Mush nodded, though he only understood half of what his friend said.

"It must be about _The World_," Peg whispered.

The watch emitted a crackling sound. "Chief, a theft has been reported at _The World_."

A voice from the background interrupted. "Not a theft, you nitwit! They broke into my building – that's a burglary!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pulitzer, you're right. Correction, a _burglary_ has been reported at _The World_. An ancient parchment – a… a newspaper, Mr. Pulitzer here claims. Oh, I apologize… an _artifact_ that is considered the first newspaper in history. Very valuable; from Egypt, Mr. Pulitzer raves - I mean, claims. He tells me to tell you that it's worth more than your life, sir… oh, my life?... Both our lives, it seems, sir. It's been stolen – yes, we know that it's been stolen, Mr. Pulitzer. No, I am not getting smart with you, sir. Yes, well…."

A short pause.

"Chief, it seems we have an urgent case of a missing newspaper."

- - - - - -

_**Author's Note, II**__: I should just put the notes down here instead of having two separate notes…. I know I threw out a lot in this chapter – I hope it didn't get too confusing (though, even I was getting confused while writing it). The CC is still open to anyone who is interested – I think I'll need more characters if I'm to start writing Chapter Eight. With that said – Spinner, is there any way I can contact you or vice versa? I just need a bit more info about your character. Thanks!_


	7. Physical Training

_**Author's Note**__: Many many thanks to Kez, stress, Spinner, Facetiouslymischievious, Passionate Fire, burnt-mufn and numbah 126 for the reviews on Chapter Six! Your positive comments have kept me going. My goal, as difficult as it may be, is to get three more chapters out before the end of summer (which is coming much too quickly). Why? Because according to my new rough outline, Chapter Ten is when those character profiles will officially debut in the story._

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from said movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to their respective owners._

**- - - - -**

**Chapter Seven: Physical Training  
**_Duane Street Lodging House: Secret Agency Headquarters – Universal Meeting Room_

A murmur filled the Meeting Room after listening to the police report.

Kloppman cleared his throat. "There is more, Agents."

"More?" Bumlets asked, incredulous.

Kloppman opened his binder and removed a single leaf of paper.

"I've received a letter today," he informed as he pressed the third button of the table controls. A pane slid open on the table directly in front of Kloppman, revealing a glass interface underneath. Kloppman placed the letter face down onto the glass. The interface sensors caused the main screen on the wall to light up, reproducing the letter in its entirety.

The Agents swiveled in their seats as their eyes quickly scanned through the letter.

"What…?" Peg breathed.

Dutchy was not so subtle. "Holy shit." Dutchy turned with wide eyes of disbelief to face his fellow Agents. "What the hell is _that_ about?"

"_To Frederic A. Kloppman_," David reread under his breath, trying to search for any clues, "_We know of your pretenses, your lies, your unorthodox alliances. For too long have you feigned innocence when truly, you are nothing but an accomplice to a group of deluded fools. We will always remember, and you will pay for our loss. You have been warned_."

"_Signed, the Black Panthers_," Jack finished.

Skittery sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as though to clear his head. "Can we do a recap?"

Jake obliged. "Jack and Race took on the Black Panther case tonight. Their report: a suspicious Silewe and an even more suspicious run-in with the Delancey brothers, who've returned from who the hell knows where. Then, Peg on patrol duty, with a report that includes a mysterious group of girls _claiming_ to know who we are and perhaps attempting to start their own underground organization. They also _claim_ to have discovered the Black Panthers identities. At the same time, we also have suspect information of the case of a missing artifact. Now we have this," he said, pointing towards the displayed letter. "A clear threat directed to the Head of the Agency – from the Black Panthers – for reasons we've yet to figure out."

"Thank you, Jake. Now… Jack, since you are so intent on working on the Black Panthers, you, Race and Bumlets will now have that case. Skittery, Kid Blink, Mush will have to take the Wiesel case. Skittery, you now finally have a Tumbler on your team: Please update your new partners on that mission. David, you and Pegasus will take care of this Six Saviors business. The Case of the Missing Newspaper, I'm afraid, will have to wait until we can find out more information from the Police Department. Jake, Boots – it's all yours."

- - - - - -

_Duane Street Lodging House: Secret Agency Headquarters_

Mush shook his head. "How does everyone do it?"

Crutchy eyed his friend sideways. He did not have to ask the newest Agent to elaborate, for Crutchy remembered the feeling well: the overwhelming anxiety as information was tossed at him from all angles, the astonishment from setting eyes on the high-tech gadgetry, the confusion from trying to learn code names and Secret Agency lingo. But he learned. In time, his primary job as a newsboy slipped down a notch as the Agency became his foremost priority. It was the same with every Agent in Duane Street, he knew, and Crutchy was confident that, despite his shaky beginnings, Mush would become accustomed to the Agency. Most importantly, Mush would fall in love with what the Agency stood for.

"Justice," Crutchy said aloud.

"Huh?"

"Nothin'," Crutchy dismissed with a grin. "All right, you're gonna need your ID card."

They had walked down an immense hallway away from the Universal Meeting Room in continuation of their tour of the Agency. Both tour guide and tourist stopped in front of two steel doors. To the left side of the doors was a rectangular wooden plate with a small screen, a card slot and a dial pad.

"Take your card, slide it in here, and punch in your code," Crutchy directed.

"Punch in my – what?"

"You gotta press these buttons… wait, I got your code printout somewhere… here it is," he said, pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper from his back pocket. "Here, you see that?" he asked, holding out the paper to Mush.

"Yeah," said Mush, squinting to read the numbers.

"Good. Memorize it." Crutchy waited for several moments.

"Got it," Mush said, mumbling the numbers under his breath several times.

"Great!" Crutchy tore the paper into shreds. "Never utter that number to anyone. It's for you to know and you only. It's just as important as your ID card, maybe even more important since the Tech Twins are planning on making that retina or fingerprint scanner…. Anyway."

Crutchy took his card, pushed it into the slot, waited for the screen to give him the prompt for his code, and rapidly dialed in his Agent Access Code. The steel doors slid open.

"Your turn," Crutchy said as he stepped behind the open doors into a large cubicle.

Mush followed suit and stepped in beside him.

"It's an elevator," Mush realized. "The lighting in here is amazing."

Crutchy laughed. "Don't mention that to Race. He keeps sayin' his face is frozen into a permanent frown because he's squintin' all the time in Headquarters. It ain't good for his poker games."

The doors closed and Mush felt his body lift slightly as the elevator began its trek down.

When the doors slid open again, Mush stiffened at the sight before him; only his brown eyes moved, slowly panning from left to right, taking in the entirety of the scene.

"Heya, welcome to the sublevel, Mush! This is the Physical Training Facility," called a figure in the distance, running towards the pair.

Mush brightened. "Hey, Swifty!"

"Hey guys," he greeted again once he reached the elevator entrance where Crutchy and Mush stood. Swifty smiled and nodded. "So what do you think, Mush? Much better than training on the roof, huh?"

"Yeah," Mush agreed wholeheartedly, remembering with dismay the endless nights spent on the Lodging House rooftop. The weather did not stop those training sessions – whether the night was chilly, humid or filled by rain, training and testing had continued on.

But this place was a different story. The Physical Training Facility was the largest facility in Headquarters. It was mostly a large open space with a ceiling that seemed to reach at least five stories. The floor near the back of the gymnasium was lined with blue and gray practice mats.

"That over there is our Strength Sector," Swifty said, pointing to the distance towards the right. Large embedded racks showcased dumbbells of various weights. Three weight benches, a chin up bar, a power tower, and a leg press machine were also lined against the wall.

A scream pierced through the air.

Mush's head snapped away from the Strength Sector and back towards the practice mats when he heard the scream and the accompanying thud.

"What happened?" Swifty called.

A faint groan was his only answer.

"I've gotta go check," he said and jogged towards the mats. Mush followed.

"Hey, what happened?" Swifty repeated when he reached the back of the facility.

"What do you think happened?" came a surly voice from the center of the gray set of mats. The person had sunk so far into the padding that Mush could not see who it was. But from the tone of the voice, he was sure that it was –

"Peg, c'mon," said Swifty.

She sat up suddenly, her head poking out from over the mat. Her eyes were half-closed, dark circles were lined underneath her eyes. The bun that had been rolled tightly into a knot was now lopsided, with strands of hair falling out of place and into Peg's face.

"I'm never going to make it to the other side," she muttered as she rolled over the Bubble mat. It was difficult, since her every movement caused the mat to swell and undulate.

Mush waved. "To the other side of what?"

Peg stood up and waved back, brightening slightly. "Hi, Mush. To the other side of that," she explained, pointing straight up towards the ceiling.

Mush tilted his neck back. Attached to the ceiling were a series of individual bars.

"What is that for?" Mush asked.

"Strength and endurance," Swifty answered. "You have to get up there using those bars," he said, indicating a vertical set of bars leading up to the ceiling. "Then you reach for the first bar, make your way across to the end, grab that rope at the end there and climb down. These mats right here," he patted the springy mat Peg had just scrambled out of, "are specially made for any falls, just in case."

"You make it sound so simple," she said.

"You'll get it, Peg," said Mush encouragingly.

She gave a weak smile in appreciation. "Maybe next time. I'm going to call it a night, Swifty."

He nodded in agreement. "Get some rest. You've got that undercover mission, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're gonna need to get some sleep, then. Clear your mind tonight – you'll be more focused in the morning. And uh, you might… you might wanna fix that," he added, pointing to her hair.

"Oh," she said, patting the top of her head. "Yeah," she mumbled, pushing the loose strands back from her face with a half-hearted flick of her wrist.

Peg picked up her gray satchel and flung it across her shoulder, waving goodbye to the boys. She proceeded towards the elevator when the steel doors opened and Pie Eater strode into the Facility. His face was partially covered by the newspaper he held up, his eyes poring over one of the articles.

Peg gave a feeble wave at the incoming Physical Training Assistant. Pie did not look up. The two continued to walk towards each other, Peg's eyes trained on Pie as his was still focused on the paper. Then, just before passing each other:

"Peg," he said in a cold acknowledgment.

She reacted instantly to the icy greeting. Whatever honorable intention she had previously vanished.

"Pie," she said, mimicking his tone.

They walked past each other, neither stopping nor turning to face the other. Peg only managed a few more steps before the guilt settled in, making her regret her action. She stopped short, sighed, and turned at the hip.

"Pie…" she called.

But he continued to walk towards the group of Agents huddled at the back of the Facility, as though he did not hear her.

With her jaw tightened, Peg inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to keep herself from running after the rude Assistant. "Forget it," she whispered and started in the direction of the elevators again. She had a long walk ahead of her as she did not reside in the Duane Street Lodging House and Peg did not want to delay her opportunity to rest any longer.

From across the Facility, Mush observed the strange exchange with interest. Pie Eater, he had realized, was unlike his usual casual self in recent weeks. He had become aloof, moody, callous. Almost like Skittery on his worst days, Mush noted. Perhaps even more so.

"What's wrong with –-" he began to question.

Swifty interrupted. "Don't ask… yet." Then to the approaching Pie Eater: "Hey, Pie. How's it going?" Swifty deliberately refrained from mentioning how late the new Assistant was – again - fearing Pie's newly adapted short temper.

Pie answered with a grunt. He closed the newspaper and folded it against his chest, all the while with a strained expression.

"Did you guys notice how," he began, "according to Race, Silewe never described any of the Black Panthers. And in the papers, there are no eyewitness accounts. No profiles. No guesses as to who're involved even though there were probably a good handful of people in that bar when the gang was there. There aren't even any quotes," Pie said, taking a seat on the mats.

Crutchy frowned. "What're you sayin'?"

Pie sighed heavily, throwing his arms in the air in frustration. "I'm just saying… that Jack and Race screwed up, all right? The papers were no help. And those two were supposed to get leads and they didn't. The Delancey's are back? Great, that really helps. And Jack… Jack wasn't even assigned that mission. And Kloppman barely bat an eye at that. Jack goes against protocol and no one says a damn word." Pie sighed again.

Crutchy, Mush and Swifty remained silent.

"What I'm saying is," Pie said, running a hand through his hair, "is that this Agency is going downhill."


	8. Technology and Equipment

_**Author's Note**: It's been too long! I've had this chapter written for a while, but because I have a neurotic need to stay a chapter ahead, I hadn't posted it until now. I wanted to post at least one chapter during the Holiday break, so here it is. One question gets explained in Chapter Eight! _

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from said movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to their respective owners. _

_- - - - -_

**Chapter Eight: Technology and Equipment**  
_The next night - Technology and Development Laboratory Center_

"You know, sometimes I really wish there were more members. I mean, how does anyone expect the _two_ of us to make equipment for the whole Agency. Nevermind the fact that we also have to basically rebuild the entire place," Dutchy complained.

"Not more members," Specs corrected. "More of _us_. Because let's face it: this place would crumble without us. If somehow, we could make a machine that could make exact copies of a person..." He trailed off, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"There he goes again. Hey, Specs, snap out of it. This ain't the time for more blue plans," Bumlets interrupted from outside of the Laboratory. He leaned over the ledge of the half-open wall, waving his hand in Specs' face.

Jack and Race stood to either side of Bumlets.

"We need our utility belts," Bumlets said, handing the Technician his mission assignment folder.

"Right. Let's see…" muttered Specs, flipping the folder open and skimming through the contents. "Black Panther mission – Jack, Race, Bumlets," he said, laying out three belts onto the metal shelf of the dutch door leading out from the Laboratory. After a few moments, he snapped the folder shut and handed it back to Bumlets.

"You've still got the basic equipment in your belts. We've upgraded the homing device, tracking device, the night goggles, and replaced the binoculars with new ones that have twenty time zoom lens."

"Nice," Jack mumbled appreciatively, taking back his utility belt and wrapping it around his waist.

Race leaned over the ledge of the dutch door to the side of the laboratory, noting the barrier. "How come you don't let anyone inside your Lab?"

"This place is sacred," Dutchy said with a laughing smile. "It's for VIPs only."

Race was about to retort when another group walked up behind him. David and Peg, and Crutchy, Skittery, Blink and Mush crowded in front of the Laboratory.

"Seems like everyone's going on their missions tonight," Jack said.

"Hey, slow sellin' day," Blink said, shrugging. "I've got a lot of energy to burn tonight."

Jack nodded in understanding. "But we finally got somethin' out of the papes today, right? You guys read this from the evening edition? Sounds like the Black Panthers have been busy – they hit another bar last night. Seems the bulls got some sort of lead on them, though."

"Yeah," Mush said. "They're wearing the black masks to cover their faces, right? No wonder there was no mention of any of their identities before…"

Jack smiled. "Hey, you're catchin' on, Mush," he said, patting the new Agent on the back.

"Well, it was actually Pie that said something like that last night," Mush clarified.

Jack clenched his jaw. "Pie, huh? Well, whatever, you're still catchin' on."

"I don't get it. What would a bar-breakin' gang want with Kloppman?" Blink asked.

"We're gonna find out," Jack said. "See you guys in the morning," he said, and his group made their way to leave Headquarters.

"Hey guys," David greeted. "Utility belts, please," he asked Specs. Peg supplied their mission folder.

"Uh-huh…" Specs muttered, pursing his lips in thought as he studied the new mission information. "Six Saviors. Undercover mission. Your first, right?" He passed the folder back to the pair of Agents and retrieved their utility belts.

"Yeah," Peg answered.

Specs nodded, raising his glasses over the bridge of his nose. "Like I told that bunch, a lot of things have been upgraded. Play around with them. But for this mission, you'll need a little something extra." Specs paced around the large Lab, digging up various gadgets.

"These are the new bugs," he informed, placing several small and clear button-like objects on the door shelf. "They've got a wide audio range so plant them sparingly. And take this," he said, presenting David with a strap carrier and Peg with another miniscule gadget that resembled the communicator devices. "A listening device – we haven't thought of a clever name for it yet. Peg, place this in your other ear and tap it on before going on the mission. David, inside this bag is a bug remote and connected _headphones_ – yeah, we finally finished making and testing them. Basically, you can control which planted bug to activate and listen to using the remote. Place the headphone on your head, and you'll hear everything Peg hears plus the bugs, without interfering with the ComCon Room."

Specs then went to fetch a final piece of equipment. He returned with a pen.

"This isn't a pen," he said before David opened his mouth to question him. "This is our Memory Eraser prototype. Be careful with this. Make sure this top tip of the pen is pointed towards the subject's eyes before you press down on the button. It'll emit a flash and freeze the person, and you'll have five seconds to get out of wherever the hell you are," he instructed, handing the Memory Eraser to Peg. "And you're set."

"Thanks, Specs. We'll return the prototypes to you guys later tonight," David said as the pair turned to leave.

"You better," Dutchy piped as he performed checks around the lab while wearing a pair of strange goggles. "And let us know how well they work."

"Next!" Specs called despite the fact that only one group remained facing him behind the doors.

Crutchy grinned. "Open up, we're comin' in."

"Ah, the tour continues." Specs pulled open the bottom half of the door. "Come on in."

Crutchy and Blink entered first with Mush following behind. Skittery had already seen the Tech Lab on countless occasions, as he was the one who usually fell victim to the twins' gloating needs every time they created a new invention. The last time he was inside the Lab, the twins not only needed to boast their own genius, they needed to _experiment_. And Skittery had left Headquarters that night with an oil-stained face, a tattered shirt and singed hairtips. Skittery thus opted to stay outside, leaning over the dutch door on his elbows.

He watched Mush with an amused grin: the newly inducted Agent seemed lately to wear an expression of permanent shock: the wide open, round eyes, the slackened jaw, the ever rotating head as he took in the sight before him.

The Technology and Development Laboratory Center was a large, brightly lit room, even more substantial than Communications and Control in size. There was barely any woodwork architecture here. The walls were thick and rough concrete and foam panes, designed to soundproof the Lab. Unlike the Communications and Control room, which was an open space, the Tech Lab was filled by rows of counters divided into stations, each of which had various instruments strewn across the surface: microscopes, tweezers, microchips, wires, soldering tools, circuit boards.

"This is the Technology and Development Laboratory Center. And these are the Tech twins, you know 'em," said Crutchy, gesturing towards Specs and Dutchy, who waved without looking up from his work, preoccupied in a station in the back of the room.

"These boys are responsible for upgrading all the equipment in Headquarters and developing new gadgets for field duty," Crutchy told Mush.

"You can say we're the heart of the organization. We keep the place safe," Specs said.

Kid Blink laughed.

"You know it's true," Specs defended. "I mean, if it weren't for us and our hard work, we would have been breached by more than just one girl."

"One girl - ? You mean Peg? Why, what happened?" asked Mush.

Crutchy scratched the back of his head. "Well," he began hesitantly. "Peg was never recruited like everyone else here."

"What do you mean?" Mush prodded.

"She kind of just… found us. What happened was, she was on the second floor of the Lodging House one afternoon, lookin' for a pen or somethin' when she found a card on the floor underneath the writing desk. What she really found was one of our ID cards --"

"Which is why it's really important to keep your card with you at all times," Blink interjected.

"Remember I told ya one of the portals is underneath the writing table? When she picked it up, the card reflected in the scanner installed there – pure luck, I tell ya – and she just dropped into Headquarters. Me and Skittery were in the Control Room at that time and when she appeared from the chute… well, everyone pretty much froze on the spot. I still remember the look on her face – her eyes were like this," Crutchy demonstrated using his forefinger and thumb to form a circle. "Then she threw this whole big fit, wavin' her arms around, goin' '_what the hell is all this_?'" Crutchy mimicked. "Our cover was blown."

"And then?" Mush questioned.

"And then we told her the truth. All of it, since we didn't really have a choice then. And that's really how she became an Agent here – by accident, really."

"Live and learn, right?" said Specs. "Now we have the blank ID cards – we used to have the Agent's headshot, name and sector printed on it – and the Memory Eraser. We're more prepared now if we ever get breached again."

"Then what about the Six Saviors? Haven't they kind of found out about us, too…?" questioned Mush.

Specs turned and studied Mush for a fleeting moment. Slowly, a smile formed on his lips.

"You're catching on, Mush," said Specs. "That's good. The _Six Saviors_ don't know what they're getting themselves into. We're the greatest Secret Agency for a reason, you know."

"What?" Mush asked, shocked. "You mean… there's more?"

"Well, yeah," said Specs as though the answer was obvious. "Every major country's got a secret service Agency. There's actually a couple here, and every single group right now is vying for the position of being the _official_ Agency of the United States. Lucky for the government, huh? We're all competing for the ultimate spot and meanwhile, they've got several organizations handling the dirty work."

"_Wow_," Mush breathed. The idea that there were other Agencies like Duane Street – all in some sort of competition – made him realize the enormity of his own position. And that realization linked to another one: days before, Kid Blink had said to him that becoming an Agent required being on guard and being more responsible. Mush finally understood.

But there was still something bothering him; a question still remained from one of the explanations he'd received.

"About Peg," Mush said, crossing his arms across his chest. "You said she found an ID card… whose was it?"

Crutchy did not reply but instead, encouraged Mush to figure out the answer.

Mush nodded grimly. Suddenly, the initially random pieces fell into place. She had limited experience. He had been in a sour mood. She was never recruited. He was kicked out. And the two were on bad terms.

"Pie Eater."

"Yeah," said Crutchy. "That's why he's been in such a bad mood lately. He hates sittin' back and watchin', that guy."


	9. Mission Force

_**Author's Note**__: I admit I had this chapter written for a long time, but never posted it because I like to be a chapter ahead (and I have yet to make headway in Chapter Ten). But, I realize it has been far too long since this story was updated. Thank you's to Dewy and brockie for your reviews!  
__**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from the movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to their respective owners._

- - - - -

**Chapter Nine: Mission Force**

_**Horace Greeley Square – that night**_

Perched on the roof of an apartment building, David looked down on Horace Greeley Square with his binoculars. He fumbled slightly with the headset and remote control before he finally heard through the headset the shuffling and muffling from the five stories below him. He peaked over the ledge of the roof again and spied Peg with her arms loosely crossed, a look of consternation on her face.

"You're doing great, Peg," David whispered encouragingly. "Go get 'em."

Pegasus was shaking. She was so nervous about her first undercover mission she abruptly realized that she had been not been listening to the Six Saviors as two of them – Brockie and Snapshot – circled, bewildered, around the seated Horace Greeley. They stomped on random steps around the statue, scratching their heads, then retracing their steps.

"I know it's one of these steps."

"You're messing up the pattern. It's… it's… one, two," she counted after each time she stamped her feet on the cobbled steps. "Three… four?"

"No, no… it's four before three."

"What?"

"One, two, _three_, _four_," said Brockie, again, to Pegasus, seemingly stepping on random stones.

Stress shook her head. Without a word, she stepped towards Horace Greeley, placing both feet on one stone. "Pay close attention," she said. "One." She moved left, stepping on a second stone. "Two." She turned right, carefully stepping on a third stone. "Three." She waved Peg and the others to follow as she moved to the back of the statue. "Four," she said, tapping her toe on the stone.

Peg felt a slight rumble beneath her feet. Confused, she looked around wildly at her surroundings and at the girls around her and gasped in shock when the ground beneath her shook and began to sink. She looked down at the cobbled ground with wide eyes. A set of stones arranged in a circular pattern around the statue began to sink, the subsequent stone sinking further into the ground than the stone before it.

_It's an underground stone staircase_, Peg realized with awe. She tried to blink back her surprise. The rumbling continued for a bit longer and the sound of stones scraping against each other echoed through the air. Then, as soon as it had begun, the rumbling ceased.

"Here we go," Snapshot said with a smile.

Peg cautiously followed the others down the stairs, her anxiety growing. She saw a faint light from below.

Before she disappeared completely from his view, David saw Peg glance up with a look of apprehension in her eyes.

- - - - -

_**Communications and Control – Headquarters**_

"_You listen to me. You listen to me, are you listening? I want this artifact found now. Not tomorrow. Now!_"

"_Yes, Mr. Pulitzer, sir, we're doing all we can._"

"_No, you're not!_"

"_Sir?_"

"_You're still standing here! Why are you just standing there? I should… I should speak to the Police Chief!_"

"_Chief Roberts is well aware of the case, sir._"

Pulitzer grunted in response.

Boots rolled his eyes in exasperation. "When are we getting to the good stuff?"

"Switching feeds," said Jake. He pressed a button on his keyboard. "Let's take a listen into Chief Roberts' office."

"_What do we have?_" came Chief Roberts' gruff voice.

"_Not much, Chief. We've searched the entire _World_. Nothing else is missing aside from the artifact. We can say that these were no professionals – they just broke through everything – the doors, the glass case. Everything about this scene says this was the work of an amateur._"

"_An amateur with a well thought-out plan_," Chief Roberts sighed.

There was a long pause.

"_We did find _this_, Chief._"

Jake and Boots suddenly perked up. Jake, who had been leaning back in his chair, with his arms crossed behind his head and his eyes closed, suddenly lifted one eyelid towards the ComCon console.

"_What is it?_"

"_It… it seems to be some sort of black cloth or handkerchief. Found near the glass encasement that held the artifact. Mr. Pulitzer claims that he would never own anything so humdrum. None of the staff in the building recognize it either._"

Boots raised an eyebrow. Jake rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Do you think…?" Boots began.

"The black cloth…"

"… is a black _mask_."

"The Black Panthers," they said together.

Jake shook his head. "Could it really be that simple? Could they really have made such a big mistake?"

"Maybe it's not a mistake," said Boots darkly. "You heard what Kloppman said. People like that want to make a name for themselves. Maybe they left it there on purpose – like a mark.

The two sat in silence, each wondering about the implications of the black cloth.

"Anyway, we can't take the risk of letting it slide past us," said Boots finally. He went over to the Communications Console and hurriedly dialed in the codes of various Mission Force agents. Speaking into the microphone, he announced: "Attention all Mission Force Agents, this is Boots from ComCon Headquarters. We have received information leading us to believe there is a link between the Black Panther case and the case of the missing newspaper."

Jake took the microphone then. "A black mask was found in _The World_ headquarters. We have reason to assume that this is a mark of the Black Panthers. Now, there are two possible reasons to steal an artifact like this: for a personal collection or --"

"_They're gonna sell it, those bums_," came Race's voice.

"_How can we know that for sure?_" Bumlets asked. Boots and Jake heard Race in the background, muttering, "_Where's the human pressure meter when ya need him… that bum._"

Jack's voice rang through the speakers. "_We should check the docks and the train yards._"

"Good idea," Boots agreed.

"_All right fellas. Black Panther case team: Bumlets, Race – you guys check the harbors. I'll be lookin' out for a bunch of suspicious goons with black masks at the tracks._" Boots and Jake could hear the smirk in the leader's voice.

Crutchy entered the room in time to hear Jack's last comment from the speakers. Without hesitating, he walked towards the microphone and, taking it near his mouth, said, "Be careful, guys." A worried expression crossed his face.

"_Hey Crutchy, don't worry about nothin'._"

- - - - -

"All right, so here's the deal. You remember Weasel, don't ya, Mush?"

The three agents crouched together in the shadows of the dark, hidden behind an overgrowth of bushes. They were in one of the more posh neighborhoods in Upper Manhattan.

Kid Blink cocked his head to the side, his good eye gazing at Skittery in a manner that needed no words – _who could forget the Weasel?_ Even Mush was giving him the look.

"Right, stupid question," said Skittery, running a hand through his hair. "So after the strike, Weasel made himself disappear. I would know. I was the last one to see him. But," Skittery snapped their mission folder shut. "A couple of weeks ago, Weasel magically reappeared. And it wasn't no temporary appearance. We spotted the Wease waltzin' around everywhere in New York. He's a happy fella, too, smilin' all the damn time. We know that's bad news," he said. "Now the problem is, we've spied him talkin' to all them hoity toity officials in high places. How does that sound to you?"

Mush nodded. "Suspicious," he answered.

"Right. And ya see that there?" Skittery pointed to the building across the street. It was a brownstone building, the kind that only the wealthiest could afford. "That's where the bum lives."

Mush's jaw dropped in shock. "There ain't no way he can live there – how…?"

"That's what we want to know. And I've got a feeling, whatever it is, it ain't good. Illegal, maybe."

Mush nodded again. "So what do we do?"

Kid Blink spoke this time. "One thing we know for sure. Weasel is always carrying a brown suitcase with him every time he goes to talk to them high spot officials. He carries it around with him like it's his life."

"What does a lowlife like him need with a suitcase?" Mush questioned.

"Exactly."

"What's in the suitcase?"

"Exactly. That's the information we need. If we're going to find out anything about the Weasel, that suitcase is our best starting point."

"That's where you come in," said Skittery. He took up the team's mission folder again, flipping through the pages. Upon finding the desired page, he handed the folder to Mush. "This is a rough sketch of Weasel's office that Davey did the last time we were in there."

Mush took the folder and studied the hastily drawn lines. He could make out a rudimentary drawing of a desk, an empty bookshelf. Random squares and rectangles were strewn across the floor of the sketch. Then there were the lines that crossed in every which direction, hastily drawn across the page as though the artist – in this case, David – was in a fit of frustration. Mush shook his head, perplexed. "What are these?"

Skittery pointed to the crosshatched lines. "That's the laser field."

Mush had to think back a moment, trying to recall where he had heard the term before. After several moments, he remembered one of his training sessions with Swifty:

"_There's a new security development called a laser field. It's a crossing of a series of highly sensitive light, connecting from one end of the room to the other," Swifty said, demonstrating by extending his arms outwards. "If you step into the light beam, you break the connection, which sets off an alarm. Honestly, it's a bitch to get through. I've never been through a more nerve racking time in my life."_

They had trained together for that assignment, working across a makeshift laser field: as the Tech Twins were preoccupied with all their other projects for Headquarters, the Physical Training sector had to make due with a field of crisscrossing strings with small bells attached to the ends. It was the toughest training Mush had endured. It took a combination of all the skills of a Tumbler, plus a hell of a lot of concentration. Mush gulped in anticipation.

"This is a tough assignment, Mush," said Blink, putting an arm around Mush's shoulders to reassure his friend. "But we're with you on this. Just remember to tap your earpiece if you need to get in contact with one of us. I'm going to be up there," Blink said, pointing upwards. "On the roof of this building, on lookout patrol."

"And I'm goin' in with you," Skittery told the new agent. "I'm going to search the rest of the house while you figure out that laser field."

Mush nodded his understanding.

"All right," said Skittery. "Our main objective is that brown suitcase. Office on the third floor. Careful with that laser field, Mush. We're depending on you." He gathered his utility belt. "Let's go, fellas."

Blink stood up and, after shaking out the tension in his legs, swiftly turned towards the building the three had designated as a safe lookout spot and took off running to assume his post.

Mush watched his friend disappear inside the building. He felt his heartbeat quickening, thumping wildly inside his chest. There was a reassuring pat on his back and Mush turned to face Skittery.

Skittery tilted his head towards Weasel's brownstone.

"You ready, Mush?"


	10. The Fourth Option

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from said movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to their respective owners._

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_

**Chapter Ten  
The Fourth Option**

This was not what she had expected. Peg warily followed the Six Saviors as they led the way down the winding stone staircase. This was no amateur group. By the looks of the place, Peg was willing to bet – and she was no Race – that this "Six Saviors" was a legitimate organization. An entrance through the Horace Greeley statue… she would have never imagined such a deceptive portal, and _she _knew about the ridiculous bathroom stall entrance in the Newsboy's Lodging House.

_The fourth option_, Peg remembered, distinctly remembering David's hypotheses from the Agent Meeting. "_There is no new organization – there already _is_ an active organization_."

As the four girls finally came upon steady ground, Peg knew that the answer to the "Six Saviors" was in the fourth option. But if that were true, then that would mean a new set of questions. Who exactly were these girls? Who was leading them? How did they know about Duane Street without any member of Duane Street knowing about them? How did they know about her? And, most importantly, whose side were they on? Could she trust these people?

The unanswered questions swirled around in her head as the group continued walking in a barely lit tunnel. Dimly, Peg recalled Race's complaints about the lighting in Headquarters. _He'd be glad he never had to deal with this place_, Peg thought.

Peg was unnerved by the silence that had descended since the chatter around Horace Greeley. The sounds of their footsteps echoed off the stone walls and Peg wondered vaguely if there was an end to the stone tunnel. But indeed there was, and she soon found herself standing in front of a plain wooden door. Considering the grand Horace Greeley entrance and the trip they took through the stone tunnel, this door was, she had to admit, rather unimpressive.

The three Saviors, though – Stress, Brockie, and Snapshot – turned towards Peg in their characteristically dramatic fashion, standing between her and the door.

"You ready, Peg?" Snapshot asked her, her voice barely above a whisper.

Peg gave a tightlipped shake of the head, her eyes shifting in uncertainty. "Ready for what?"

"For your first look at our headquarters!" Snapshot exclaimed, obviously in disbelief of Peg's ambivalence.

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course!" Peg added the enthusiasm for good measure. She chastised herself inwardly. She was already botching up her first undercover assignment by not paying attention. This was going to be harder than she thought. Focus, she told herself.

Focus.

But her last bit of enthusiasm seemed good enough for Snapshot. "That's more like it!"

Stress took a deep breath. "All right. Here we go!" With that, she took the brass door knob into her hands and yanked the door open, which gave an unflattering creak as it made the full opening arc.

The tunnel didn't exactly flood with light, but Peg took a moment to adjust her eyes to the comparably brighter source of light from beyond the door. When the white beam dimmed down, Peg saw, to her slight disappointment as she was expecting something rather dramatic, that there were more stairs. The three Saviors gave her a childlike glance of anticipation as they filed through the doorway, waving for her to follow. She did. To be honest, she was getting rather fidgety about seeing their organization and meeting the rest of the members. And wandering into the unknown didn't sit well with her; she was worried that it was beginning to show. She discretely wiped the sweat from her palms on the sides of her grayed skirt.

Breathe. Focus.

And then it happened. Just as she was taking a slow breath in, she stepped onto level ground. No more stairs. The three Saviors spread out before her and Peg finally saw their Headquarters. The room, if it could even be called a room, was immense. Perhaps the size of two large factories put together. In front of her was a wall of glass and if Peg thought this was impressive, she gasped when she looked upwards. Made completely from thick glass – albeit sullied glass that obviously had not been cleaned in ages – were concentric circles of walls layered upon one another, each subsequent floor smaller in circumference. Like a huge layered wedding cake.

Peg realized she had been holding her breath. Breathe, she reminded herself.

They approached the glass encasement and, once inside its walls, headed towards the center of the circular structure. The ground level, from what Peg could make out, was relatively empty. There were several scattered boxes and crates. A layer of dust covered unventured paths. They drew near to what looked like the metal core of the architecture which, Peg soon found, was the elevator. Brockie pressed a palm along the smooth, cold surface and Peg felt a faint, mechanical hum as the elevator door slid open. The four stepped inside.

As the elevator door clicked shut and the floor pushed against Peg's weight, she heard a strange jingling noise coming from above.

"Our elevator music," Stress explained when she saw Peg glance upwards. "We thought it'd be nice to have a tune to listen to while waiting for our floor. Kind of takes the stress away from coming back from a mission, doesn't it?"

"Sure does," was Peg's reply.

The jingling continued as a silence once again fell upon the girls. The silence on Peg's part was due to uncertainty and a particular feeling of awe, but she sensed that the Saviors were keeping silent in order to enhance the dramatic official introduction to their Headquarters. Stress was tapping her toes and biting her lips, as though she were desperately trying to keep herself from revealing a secret. To their credit, it was working. Peg was starting to absorb the excitement.

The elevator came to a jolting stop at the top floor.

"Gotta get that fixed," Brockie mumbled.

The door opened slowly as though it, too, sensed the dramatics that the Saviors were preparing for Peg. And when it opened fully, and the three members stepped out, and Peg tiptoed into the room, and was confronted by a room full of girls, a loud shout filled the room.

"Welcome!" the girls greeted in unison.

"Surprise!" said one late voice from the right side of the room.

An exasperated sigh.

"Oh, I mean… Welcome!"

"Pegasus, this is the Headquarters of the Six Saviors," said Snapshot, grandly gesturing with her arm. "We're still working on the name, though."

"What was wrong with Fatal Five?" came a voice.

Peg took in the sight. A large, round wooden table that echoed the shape of the rest of the architecture was situated in the center of the room. About a dozen or so girls were assembled around it, all staring at the newcomer. Peg ignored the sudden need to shift from foot to foot, knowing that that would give off the impression of anxiety.

"Let's start the introduction briefs already. Took you girls long enough to get here. We've been sitting on our bums for hours." The order came from the same girl who had given the loud sigh. As she spoke, she rose out of her chair. She was slim with dirty blonde hair wrapped in a bun. Her thin lips were pursed and her jaw was clenched with impatience. She strode purposefully towards the front of the room, opposite from where Peg stood in front of the elevator, and reaching up on her tiptoes, grabbed a cord and pulled down a white screen. Plastered on the screen were individual black and white images of girls from the waist up, which Peg automatically assumed were of the girls that were gathered in that very room.

"Don't mind Keza," whispered a girl directly in front of Peg, looking up at her from her seated position. "She's always like this." She motioned towards the seat next to her. "Take a seat. I'm Alley Kat, by the way," she said quietly, her tone slightly shy.

Peg did so, slowly, as the three Saviors also took their seats at the table.

Keza commanded the attention of the room. She whipped out a pointer and with a loud thwack against the screen, directed everyone's attention to the first image.

"That's me, Keza." The picture said it all. The photograph was an exact duplicate of the person standing live next to it. Keza barely cracked a smile, though there was a hint of sarcastic tendency lingering in her eyes. Both image and person had a cigarette stub sticking out from the corner of their mouth. She was a no-nonsense sort of person who expected perfection from those around her. Peg saw in her a natural leader.

"I'm the Head of the Corrections Department. Basically, I dash some alcohol on cuts and sew people back up. This," she pointed with her pointer to the next photograph, "is Acorn. Also Corrections. Too nice for her own good."

Acorn may be "too nice," but her picture suggested a quiet confidence. A petite figure with dark braided hair contrasting her pale complexion, Peg was immediately able to pick her out from the others around the roundtable. She looked mildly amused with Keza's presentation.

Keza continued, speaking quickly. "Next in Corrections is Stagey. She's new here, too. Picked her up from Medda's – you know Medda Larkson, Peg? D'ya mind if I call you Peg? Who doesn't know Medda Larkson in this city. Right."

The most striking aspect of Stagey at first glance was her large, expressive eyes. They were the type of eyes that could tell no lie, trusting but at the same time tentative. Peg scrutinized each photograph, evaluating each member of the temporarily named Six Saviors organization. The realization jerked her back to Duane Street and David Jacobs, who she knew was waiting for her outside.

_The bugs_, Peg remembered abruptly. She was supposed to plant them so David could listen in on the undercover mission. But there was something stopping Peg from reaching into her boot and pulling out one of the listening devices that the Tech twins had provided her with. First, the motion would be rather conspicuous and Peg almost smacked herself in the forehead for her lack of foresight. Not the smartest idea she's had_._ Second: could it be that she was feeling a bit guilty for lying to these girls? Feeling guilty for not telling them that she was actually on a mission and had no intention of joining their "secret organization"?

Or did she?

"Moving on, we have Communications. Snapshot – you've already met Snapshot – and Curtains are in charge of that sector."

"Joanna," came a voice.

"Oh, right. She likes to go by Joanna. Curtains, that is. Curtains likes to go by Joanna."

"I like my real name," Joanna explained, her bright green eyes meeting Peg's browns.

"Next is Technology. That's Brockie's specialty."

Brockie sat leaning back in her chair. She gave a small smile of acknowledgement at the mention of her name, pushing her glasses above the bridge of her nose. Peg had already determined that Brockie was naturally quiet: out of the three that had escorted her here, Brockie had spoken the least.

"Lastly, our Field Agents. Stress and Gimmick are the heads of that sector," said Keza, pointing to each photograph as she spoke. "Alley Kat, Smee, and Spinner are our newest Field Agents."

The photograph of Smee showed a girl with dark hair and light eyes. Peg looked over the table and found that she had brown hair with tints of red, and hazel eyes. Like her picture, in which she gave the suggestion of a smile, Smee appeared quiet and unassuming. Spinner was the opposite. She gave a good-natured wave, her hand covered by a black fingerless glove. Curly, light brown hair, and sparkling brown eyes, she exuded an optimism that seemed a bit lacking from the others around the table. Peg didn't blame them. From the looks of their Headquarters and their ragtag, disparate crew, this may have been David's fourth option theory, but it was a far cry from being an effective one.

Keza walked forward to the roundtable and set down her pointer. "That's us. The nameless, crime-fighting, underground organization."

"Question."

"Yeah, Gimmick?"

"Why do we have to show pictures if we're all sitting right here," she gestured around her for show, "in this room?"

"Because it's professional. Next."

Peg raised her hand. It was about time she got some answers.

"Yes?"

She decided to be forward. "Why am I here?"

"Good question. That leads us to our Training sector, which is headed by… no one."

Stress took up the point. "We found that we're a little out of shape going out on the field. We've got really great talent," she added intently. "But we could use some, um… fine tuning."

The group looked to Peg in anticipation; upon feeling all those eyes on her and suddenly realizing what they asked of her, well, Peg couldn't help it.

She burst out laughing. They had to be joking. She laughed so much that tears welled up in her eyes.

But when they're solemn expressions remained, Peg realized that, for some reason, they were absolutely serious about the matter.

"Ha… ha…" Her laughter faltered. She straightened. "Go on," she managed.

"Our organization was once on the brink of great success. We were giving all those boys a run for their money back in the day. Bringing in gangs and thieves by the dozens to the bulls. We were building a reputation for ourselves. Those government officials started calling us the 'Anonymous Avengers.' But then suddenly, it all began to fall apart. The leaders started fighting with each other. Stress, Gimmick, Brockie, Snapshot, and me were the youngest recruits – we were supposed to be the next generation. We were supposed to be the next ones to carry this Agency." Keza sighed.

"But everyone parted ways before we ever got the chance to carry anything," Brockie said quietly.

A blanket of melancholy covered the room. Peg pressed her lips together and looked at the girls around her – each were lost in her own thoughts. She was feeling empathetic to the group of girls around her. She realized she believed them; there was a genuineness and a sincerity in their eyes that it was impossible not to.

Stress cleared her throat. "But we're starting up again, full force. We've been in operation for a couple of months and even though it's taking us a little while, we're all doing really well, all by ourselves."

"Yeah, I think we've been doing great, don't you guys?" Spinner chipped in.

Slowly, heads nodded.

"But we could always improve," Gimmick said. "We haven't reached the level that this Agency used to be at."

"That's where you come in, Peg," said Snapshot. "We know we're asking a lot from you, but we need your help."

Peg stuttered in her response. "I… I just don't know. I don't know anything about –"

"We know you're with Duane Street," said Keza.

That startled Peg for a second, but she regained her composure. "So you're asking me to turn my back on Duane Street?"

"Oh no, we don't mean it that way! That just sounds so negative. We'd just like you to help us and not them is all," Snapshot explained with a satisfied grin.

Peg gave them a look that was a cross between puzzlement and a wordless _Are you out of your mind? _ "That sounds like the same thing to me," she said dryly.

"Oh, no, no, no, it's not the same thing, though, silly… it's, uh… The difference is very subtle, but there _is_ a difference."

"Peg, we have a lot of potential here," said Brockie, almost pleadingly. "This place has seen some great things happen and we need to revive it. And we can help. We're on the side of Justice," she added earnestly. "Like we've said, these girls are all talented. And your boys haven't really been on their toes lately from what I've heard…" she said quietly.

"Right, because you girls were stalking them."

"Keeping tabs," Acorn corrected.

"Right. That."

"So," Stress said finally, her attention on Peg. There was a knowing look in her eyes and a hint of a half-smile on her face. "Are you in?"

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_**Author's Note:**__ Dewy, I apologize for taking so long to get this chapter out! Thank you to stress, brockie, and Dewy for your reviews. I'm glad someone remembers this silly thing despite the sporadic updates. This chapter was written a couple of months ago, and I know it's lacking in our newsboys, but hopefully, if this momentum of motivation stays with me, they will appear in the next! Thanks for reading and any feedback would be greatly appreciated!  
_


	11. The Weasel

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the movie _Newsies_, nor any of the characters from said movie. They belong rightfully to _Disney_. All other characters that are mentioned belong to their respective owners._

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**Chapter Eleven  
The Weasel**

This was his chance. Tonight. Right now. Right this moment. Race had told Mush that he was not yet an agent, but Mush would prove tonight that he is indeed ready.

With Blink on the rooftop across the street, Skittery and Mush swiftly made for the Weasel's brownstone. They raced up the steps and crouched against the front door. It was a new moon and they used the darkness to their advantage. Skittery reached into the small pouch hanging on his utility belt, and after rummaging through its contents for a few moments, he pulled out what looked like an ordinary pin. Another one of the Twin's ingenious inventions, Mush supposed. The young agent watched as Skittery placed the pin inside the lock of the door. His head was right by the lock as he twisted and wriggled the pin this way and that. Curiosity got the best of Mush.

"What're you doing?" he whispered.

"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm picking the lock," Skittery said, his focus still on the door.

"Oh." It _was_ just an ordinary pin after all. "I thought the Twins would have made something to unlock doors by now," said Mush, a little disappointed.

"Yeah, you're telling me."

There was a click then, barely audible. A grin of satisfaction crossed Skittery's face.

"We're in," he said in a low voice.

He pushed the door open slowly and, still crouching, led the way into the foyer. Mush followed cautiously, his eyes jumping from side to side as he tried to take in the sight. The darkness was a hindrance now; he needed a moment for his pupils to adjust to the darker interiors of the house. He closed his eyes tightly, willing them to take in whatever light available from the lampposts outside. He felt a tap on his shoulder and opened his eyes. Skittery signaled with his forefinger, then moved his hand from one side to the other.

Mush was confused for a moment, trying his best to interpret the combination of hand gestures. Skittery kept pointing emphatically to a point behind Mush. He turned around and saw the open entrance. _Oh!_ he thought. Skittery was telling him to close the door. He did so. Once he got back to Skittery's side, they moved forward. Skitts must have known the layout of the apartment like it was his own the way he maneuvered around the furniture and avoided the weak spots in the floor that creaked with one's weight.

The brownstone was impressive. For someone as greasy and unkempt as Wiesel, it was a surprise to see this immaculate and sophisticated apartment that he called home. Several paintings lined the walls of the hallways. The living room featured a matching set of velvet sofas and couches. There was even a chandelier hanging over the room. Golden ornaments filled the room - on the mantel, on the coffee tables.

They made it to the stairs. The office was on the third floor. Mush followed on Skittery's heals as the two rapidly, yet quietly, climbed the steps. In a few seconds, they arrived on the third landing. A strange glow radiated on this floor. Skittery blocked Mush from moving any further with his arm. They had made sure the house was empty, but there was no telling what kind of devices and shields Wiesel had installed since the agents' last visit. He scanned the floor and ceiling, searching every corner. There was an arched opening to their immediate left. Mush realized that the glow was coming from this opening.

"That's the office," Skittery said. The two approached the glowing entrance. "And that's the laser field."

Mush gaped at the chaos of glowing lines that filled the front half of the room, lines that spanned up to the ceiling. The glow from the lasers illuminated the entire room. Beyond, he saw a desk and a massive chair behind it. He couldn't catch sight of the suitcase from where he stood. Mush broke into a sweat of anticipation.

"It's your turn," said Skittery. "I'm going to check out the other rooms, see if I can find anything that might help us." He turned to go downstairs. "Good luck," he said over his shoulder. He hurried down the stairs.

From the earpiece, Mush heard another "Good luck." Kid Blink. Mush breathed in and exhaled slowly. He cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms out. This was his chance. He examined the maze he was to tackle. It was not impossible. Swifty and he had practiced through much tighter mazes than the one before him. But this wasn't practice. There was more on the line. One mistake would give away their position. He would be putting Kid Blink, Skittery and all of Duane Street in danger. And there was no way he would put his friends in danger.

He dived in.

-----

"Anything?"

"Nothing," said Skittery, touching his earpiece.

He recognized Blink's tone: Kid Blink was bored out of his mind. He didn't blame him. Being the backup to a mission was not the most exciting of missions. Blink was always so full of energy that backup didn't suit him. But he was a good field agent, and he knew that backup was absolutely necessary on these assignments.

"How do you think our boy is doing?" Blink asked. Blink had the main control for the earpieces with him on the roof; right now, he shut off the three-way communication and tapped into Skittery's ear only, so as to not interrupt Mush's mission.

"Don't know. You want me to check?"

"Nah. Nah, we don't want to make him more nervous," said Blink. "He was nervous, wasn't he?"

"Yeah."

"I think he'll be all right," he said, sounding more as though he were trying to convince himself.

"The alarms haven't gone off," Skittery said dully. "That's a good sign."

He continued opening and shutting drawers, searching in closets, under the mattress, finding nothing of significance. Skittery was in Wiesel's bedroom now. The thought disturbed him, so he tried to put it away to the recesses of his mind. He strode across the room and opened the dresser drawers. Upon opening the second compartment, he held back a gag. He quickly shut the drawer and stepped back, obviously offended.

"What is it?" asked Blink, concerned.

"You don't want to know."

He heard Blink sigh through the earpiece. "I wish we just knew what the hell the Weasel is up to. Whatever it is, he's up to no good."

"No kidding," Skittery said, scrutinizing the room from top to bottom before leaving. He walked out into the hallway, looked about, turned right, and poked his head into another room.

A guest room. He stepped in and again, began searching for something, anything, that was out of the ordinary. One drawer, a bed, a night stand, and a chair by the window. He was about to check under the mattress when he stopped short. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Something was wrong.

Skittery touched his earpiece. "Kid. Kid?"

Static.

"Kid. Blink. Kid Blink." No answer. "Dammit, what the hell's wrong with this thing?"

More static. Then finally, "I'm here."

Skittery breathed a sigh of relief. "Hey, do another lookaround, will ya? Something's not right."

Blink knew better than to question Skittery's instincts. Race didn't call him the "Human Pressure Meter" for nothing. He grabbed his binoculars and searched the streets below. At first he saw nothing from his vantage point on the roof – the moonless night made way for shadows to take over the street. Then he saw it. There was someone on the sidewalk. Blink zoomed in. He swore under his breath.

"Skitts – we have trouble. The Weasel's on his way."

"Shit."

"Get the hell out of there," Blink urged.

Skittery was already on the move. He ran out of the guest room and raced up the stairs. He was breathing hard. Wiesel must be close. He peered into the office and the laser field and saw Mush, squatting, balancing on one foot. He was about halfway through the field.

He didn't want to scare Mush into losing his focus and triggering the alarm, so he whispered: "Mush."

"Yeah," the young agent answered. He moved slowly, deliberately.

"Mush, we gotta scram. You have to get back here," Skittery ordered.

There was no way Mush was giving up now. His brows furrowed. "No," he said. "I can do this."

"Look, we don't have time! Get back here!" Skittery hissed.

"I can get the suitcase. Just give me a minute."

"We don't have a minute, dammit."

"I can do this!"

Skittery saw that Mush was not going to change his mind. He was almost out of the laser field now. He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to think. Now there was no time to get Mush out. But he didn't want to distract the Tumbler and set off the alarm, compromising all three of the agents.

He heard a noise from downstairs. The Weasel was at the front door.

"Shit," he muttered again fiercely. He put a hand to his ear. "Blink, we have a situation. Turn on all the earpieces. I need you to make sure the streets are clear. We'll be making a run for it."

"Got it," said Blink.

Skittery jerked his head towards the stairs when he heard the front door open and slam shut. Footsteps. Creaking floorboards. Then the unmistakable rhythm of feet climbing stairs. Skittery could hear the labored breathing as Wiesel climbed. He looked back at Mush one last time – he was still among the lasers – and dashed to the other end of the hallway, skidding into another room.

He peeked out from the doorway. He could see the stairs and the office entrance. He moved his head back into the room, his back leaning against the door jamb, listening to the footsteps. Skittery guessed that the Weasel was close now. He peered back out into the hallway. Sure enough, he saw the back of Wiesel's head rising above the floor as the old man ascended. If Mush did not make it through the lasers…

Wiesel stopped at the right of the entrance. He placed both of his grubby hands on the wall and began to feel the surface. He was searching for something, Skittery realized. The Weasel had not shown any reaction. Maybe Mush made it?

Wiesel stopped. Skittery held his breath. He watched as the man pried open a portion of the wall: beneath it was the control to the office laser field. Skittery spied a number pad; the Weasel punched in a series of numbers with his stubby fingers. He saw the glow from the lasers flicker for a couple of seconds; then the glow disappeared. The laser field was off. Wiesel was about to enter the office. Skittery hoped Mush made it.

-----

He had hopped and rolled out of the laser field just as he heard the footsteps slow on the third floor and when he could practically feel Wiesel's harsh breaths. Mush panicked. He lifted himself off the floor and surveyed the room quickly. He had no choice. There was no time to search for the suitcase. Mush made for the desk and dove under it.

Just in time. He sat crouched under the desk. Mush saw the glow disappear and he was enveloped in darkness. Mush tried to slow his thundering his heart. He was sweating profusely now; his shirt was soaked through. He tried to remember the breathing exercises he had with Swifty. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat. It was working.

It was working until the light snapped on. Wiesel had turned on the lamp in the room. Mush heard Wiesel grunting. He heard and felt a thud as Wiesel dropped something heavy onto the floor. Mush chanced a look below the desk. Wiesel had carried in a huge box full of what looked like picture frames. Mush squinted to make out more details. And then he saw his feet. Wiesel was shuffling towards him. In a matter of seconds, he would be exposed. Mush couldn't think straight. It was as though his mind were completely clouded.

In a matter of seconds…

-----

Skittery saw the light turn on from inside the office. He turned his back inside the room and spotted a lamp across from him, by the window. In three long strides, he was there; he took the heavy lamp in his hands and threw it down. It broke into a million fragments with a shattering scream. Quickly, he moved back to the door and hid behind it. Skittery waited. He didn't have to wait long.

The Weasel was coming.

Skittery quickly dug into his utility belt, his fingers fumbling through all the small gadgets inside. He felt a smooth, round surface and pulled it out. It was a marble. He held the marble tightly in his hands as the pounding of footsteps neared. He plastered himself against the wall and took one last breath.

Wiesel swept into the room with his clumsy gait. He paused right inside the doorway and saw the shattered lamp on the floor. Slowly, he walked further into the room, with Skittery still hiding behind the door. He watched Wiesel stoop down over the broken lamp and at that moment, tossed the marble towards him with. The marble hit the floor hard and bounced off towards the far wall, then rolled around and around until it stopped at the tip of Wiesel's foot. Wiesel stood up abruptly. Skittery saw a pistol in his left hand.

Nothing happened.

_Oh. Shit._

And then Skittery heard it. A small fizzle. He looked at the marble. It was shaking. Wiesel studied the marble curiously himself. Finally, the marble burst and an explosion of cloudy white gas streamed upwards, filling the room.

"What the hell!" Wiesel yelled, blinded by the gas.

Skittery ran out and slammed the door behind him. He touched his ear. "Mush. Move. _Now_." He sprinted to the end of the hall and by the time he got to the office, Mush was running out.

The two agents raced down the stairs, fueled by Wiesel's hysterical shouting from the upstairs room. They ran past the paintings, past the living room and the chandelier, into the foyer. Skittery unlocked and pulled open the front door, waving Mush to head out. Kid Blink was beckoning with his arms on the opposite side of the street. Skittery looked up towards the staircase. Wiesel had gotten out of the room and was stumbling down the stairs. Skittery hastily shut the door and ran.

The three agents sped down the street and disappeared into the shadows.

-----

_**Author's Note:**__ Thank you Dewy and stress for the reviews! Our newsboy/agents don't seem to be having a lot of luck lately. Was Pie right? Is the Agency really going downhill?_


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